


For Protection From Monsters

by Sarai



Series: Stars from Home [8]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles has matzo fever, Ruth is a canon character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 31
Words: 42,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarai/pseuds/Sarai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Brotherhood dissolves and Raven returns to the mansion, Charles finds himself torn between his past and his present. Not everyone trusts Raven, however. Some students look to Scott for answers, while Ororo would rather seek her own. With discord at home, an external threat jeopardizes not only the school but the bonds of those within it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. March 3, 1964

* * *

Scott did not cry out at the needle puncturing his skin, but he made a sound like a puppy who had stepped on a tack. He took a breath and tilted his head back. He exhaled up at the once-white ceiling, looking at the stains and trying to ignore the feeling of a metal stick under his skin. It made his stomach churn.

"Almost done," Hank said.

Hank could teach a chemistry class using the stains on the ceiling. In fact, he once had, fascinating their least science-minded student—Laurie Collins—and completely boring Scott, who saw only red.

The blood draw had nothing to do with the ceiling stains, though. Hank pulled the needle out, eliciting another wounded puppy noise. As the man responsible for the track mark-like scars on Scott's arm, Hank knew that sound quite well. He pressed a bandage over the puncture.

"Thanks."

Scott always said that. He had started it after the millionth time Hank apologized. Scott didn't like labs or needles and over the past few months he had been in here all the time.

Once, Hank used some of Scott's blood for his own curiosity-addressing research. Scott and Alex were the first pair of siblings Hank had ever met who not only were both mutants but had very similar mutations. They were even immune to one another's energy blasts—how could Hank be anything but fascinated?

But mostly he was researching why Scott did not age as a normal boy would. He was trying to understand what had been done to turn him into a walking science experiment, might even cure him one day. Scott did not like apologies at the best of times. He particularly disliked them from a friend trying to help him.

Hank emptied the current syringe into a vial, capped it tightly, and labeled it: _March 3, 1964._

Scott slipped out of his chair. He had always hated labs, but he was used to this one. It was Hank's. Scott unlatched the small metal cage and picked up a mouse. The mouse sniffed at Scott's hand and at his sweater.

"I'm going to run another test, but I believe I may have made progress."

"Progress?"

"Small progress—it's a complex situation and, well, it's also an ethically complex situation."

Scott stroked the mouse's head. The animal trembled, but then, it almost always trembled. It trusted Scott. "How so?"

"It's hard to test. I can't just inject you with this serum, no matter how scientifically sound it seems—but your situation is unique. There's no equivalency test on animals unless I can replicate the initial experiments, and that would be… unconscionable," Hank explained.

Scott aged at about half the normal rate but, like many teenagers, he wanted to grow up. Having friends around his age only made that desire more potent. He had known Ororo for a little over six months. That was long enough to see that she was growing much faster than he was, that she would leave him behind.

More than that, he wanted the damage out of his body. He wanted his cells to be normal, not marked by years of experimentation.

"I can take it," he insisted. "I'm much better with needles now."

Hank shook his head. "It would be at best borderline ethical. Experimentation on human subjects is the very last stage. If Porthos were like you, he would be my first subject."

Scott cradled the mouse, Porthos, closer.

"Yeah. Scott, look what happened to me. I thought my cure was ready. Exposing someone else to the same risk would be inexcusable, especially a minor."

"I'm not a—"

"Charles says you are."

Scott sighed. He couldn't argue with that.

"And, as the closest thing you have to a legal guardian, he hasn't given consent."

"Oh, come on!"

Hank shrugged.

"What about Alex?"

Alex was almost Scott's little brother, having been born three years later, but he aged normally. So Alex looked like what he was, a man in his early 20s, and was old enough to give consent for medical procedures.

"Alex is the best comparison sample," Hank responded, "but he didn't have the same treatments—if I tested the serum on him, nothing would happen. And he can't give consent for you."

Scott was clever enough to know he had no arguments. It wasn't just because breaking a telepath's rules is just silly. What Hank said was true: Professor Xavier might not have been his legal guardian, precisely, but he was more of a father than Scott had known since he was six years old. Scott didn't want to disrespect him by going behind his back.

Besides, Hank wouldn't. He was even more a rule-follower than Scott.

Scott returned Porthos to his habitat. Hank had finished storing his most recent blood sample. With the lab clean, Scott suggested, "Race you?"

"You never win."

"Maybe today's my lucky day."

"You're overdue for one," Hank agreed.

* * *

Ororo crouched low in the kitchen, bringing herself eye to eye with a plate of cupcakes. Well, she would have been, anyway, if cupcakes had eyes. They had sprinkles. That was similar if you didn't think too hard on it. She ought to know, having helped put the sprinkles on (and eaten a spoonful or six in the process).

"You have not had enough of these?" Ruth asked. She had been a teacher only slightly longer than Ororo had been a student.

"I wasn't eating them," Ororo replied. She and Sean had been helping in the kitchen and plenty of the cupcake batter, sprinkles, and frosting had not quite made it to the final product. "I was just wondering what kind of psycho," a word she had picked up from the boys, "likes vanilla over chocolate."

"A travesty," Ruth agreed. "Because clearly you do not like vanilla at all."

"Not as much."

Ororo knew she was just grouching. If she wanted to complain about vanilla cupcakes she probably shouldn't have helped Sean and Alex eat an entire bowl of batter earlier.

Ruth shrugged. "Well, you have a birthday next month, if you would like chocolate cupcakes—"

"No!" Ororo replied, so quickly Ruth and Sean laughed.

"You know who has the next birthday. I think Sean prefers chocolate."

"I do," Sean confirmed. "I love chocolate."

"See, Sean likes chocolate."

Ororo nodded. "Hey, what about Scott?"

"Leave the boy alone, _habibti_ ," Ruth told her. Scott did not know his birthday, although he did prefer chocolate to vanilla. Charles had suggested that Scott pick a birthday for himself, but Scott wasn't ready and Ruth would not have him pressured about this over a chocolate cupcake.

Ororo huffed, but said nothing.

Ruth ran her fingers through Ororo's hair, fluffing it out. "Are you going to cut it?"

Ororo thought about that. She had sold her hair before, but that was back in Cairo. Now whether she kept it was a matter of fashion. And wasn't that a new concept! "I don't know," she admitted. "Do you cut yours?"

Ruth's hair was curly and wild and fell well past her shoulders. "Sometimes."

"Or does Charles prefer long hair?"

"Are your legs not burning?"

"They are," admitted Ororo, who was still crouched to stare at the cupcakes. She did not mind vanilla—not really. Vanilla was better than no cupcakes at all. It was the luxury. Not only did she have enough food to eat here, she had enough food not to eat. There was a whole jar of that gross creamy stuff she wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole!

Some American things Ororo had adapted to. Peanut butter was not one of them.

She straightened up. Ruth turned away and Sean, who had been washing dishes until a moment ago, took the opportunity to tweak Ororo's hair. She stomped on his foot.

"Sean, take this into the dining room," Ruth said, holding out a dish.

“Did you just see…?” Sean asked.

“See what?”

“Nothing.”

Over the past months, they had established a routine for dinnertime. Nobody but the designated kitchen assistants went into the kitchen while Ruth was cooking. Nobody had tried since Ruth led Doug out by the ear and threatened to rip it off next time—not that anyone thought she would, but she sent the message quite clearly that she did not appreciate interference with her kitchen. So the others knew what time dinner was and they knew to sit at the table and not offer to 'help' Ruth and for pity's sake, Scott, your sleeve is not a napkin.

Three people arrived in the dining room at once: Sean from the kitchen, Hank through another door, and Scott scrambling through a window. Scott and Hank paused, staring at one another—then Hank vaulted across the room and Scott hauled himself through the window. Hank bounced off the wall ("Hank!") and perched on the back of his chair just as Scott threw himself at his, knocking over both himself and the chair.

They did not have assigned seats, just habits.

There were two teenage students besides Ororo and Scott. One of them, Doug Ramsey, helped Scott pick himself up. Scott didn't need help, but it made Doug feel better. The other, Laurie, who was not much good at science, just rolled her eyes. Ororo narrowed her eyes at Laurie, but they let it go after a moment's glowering.

All told, there were nine people in the house: the teachers, Charles, Ruth, and Hank; the students, Scott, Ororo, Doug, and Laurie; and Sean and Alex, who were students at the local community college and trained with Ruth and Hank. And despite the inevitable circus of so many personalities at one table, they all sat down to dinner together every weekday.

Granted, this occasionally resulted in a pepperoni-throwing incident (Alex), a verbal cat fight (which ended so ugly Laurie and Ororo were grounded for a week), or Coke laughed through someone's nose, but no one complained. The telepath could tell you they all looked forward to it.

Today was special, though.

Today Ruth lit a candle in a vanilla cupcake and Doug thought for a moment with his eyes closed before blowing out the flame.

"And now Charles is gonna eat a cupcake," Sean said, stating what at least two other people at the table were looking forward to.

Charles sighed. "Honestly?"

Sean nodded.

There was something exciting about watching prim-and-proper Charles Francis Xavier shove messy food into his mouth. He could be dignified with cake, but cupcake was another beast.

Charles, seeing how much this would amuse the students, made a show of reluctance. He didn't mind. If the past year had taught him anything, though, it was the importance of playing roles. He did what others needed from him—or small things that would amuse them. With played reticence, he took a bite.

"That was why you asked for cupcakes, right, Doug?" Alex asked.

"I just like cupcakes," Doug replied.

"Charles going frosting-face was his birthday wish," Sean added.

Doug rolled his eyes. "'Course not."

Somehow a conversation about cupcakes spiraled out of control. It had everyone laughing, so that a new arrival took them all by surprise. Charles noticed her first and fell absolutely silent. One by one, the others did, too, half of them registering recognition and others confusion at the blond standing in the doorway, looking like hell.

"Who's—" Ororo began.

Scott shushed her.

Charles's voice cracked the silence. "Raven."

And Doug, a baffled look on his face, said, "That wasn't exactly how I meant my wish."


	2. Home

Raven looked at the unfamiliar faces at the table. She knew this house. It was the first place she called home after her parents kicked her out, the place she grew up. When Charles was so excited to move to Oxford, to broaden the world for himself, Raven cried to leave it behind.

Somehow even though she had seen the new additions previously, she had not realized they would be living here. She knew they were Charles's new friends. She just hadn't realized they were his new family.

Now she hid her resentment at seeing these strangers here. A part of her did wish Mrs. Xavier had lived to see a black girl at her dining room table, though.

"Maybe this was a mistake…"

"No!" Charles answered a little too readily and, seeing him, you would have sworn he tried to stand. Nearly a year and a half he had been in that wheelchair. He spent months adapting, learning to live with his paraplegia, even now adjusting to the way people looked at him. Not for one second had he forgotten that chair.

He forgot for her.

Several others looked away, unsure how to respond either to Raven or to Charles.

Ruth cleared her throat. "Whoever is most helpful clearing the table, he does not have to wash dishes tonight."

She may as well have offered cake to a starving man. The four students were on their feet in seconds. Ororo and Laurie put aside their differences to team up. Doug had no such option, since Scott was dragging his feet. Between the group, the table was clear in under three minutes.

In the kitchen, the girls laughed. "We were fastest," Laurie declared.

"You were," Ruth conceded.

"That's unfair," Doug complained.

Scott mumbled something. His words were unintelligible thanks to the thumbnail clenched between his teeth. He moved his hand and tried again: "Ruth didn't say fastest. She said most helpful."

"Very true," Ruth agreed. "This was probably Laurie and Ororo. I cannot expect Doug to help, though, not on his birthday—Scott, fetch your useless brother."

"'S'all right," Scott assured her. "I'm happy to help."

"Boy Scout," Laurie sniped.

Ororo 'accidentally' jabbed her in the ribs going for another cupcake.

Back in the dining room, Alex had also taken the hint. He cleared his throat and tugged Sean away from the table—Sean paused long enough to grab a cupcake—and Hank needed no further prompting either. The room bubbled with commotion and then cleared, leaving Charles and Raven alone. Charles almost wished they hadn't. He missed the warmth of his family around him.

He was worried, he realized. The last time they saw one another, she appeared in disguise, wearing Angel's skin. Today she wore that familiar blond look. It had been her default for so many years. But the time before that, the day on the beach, of course he told her to go with Erik.

Of course.

It had been his hope, the risk he took, that she cared for him more.

Perhaps his trust in her had been as misplaced as his trust in Erik, given the state Raven appeared in now. She was dirty, disheveled, and was that blood matted into her hair?

"Oh, Raven."

He wanted to go to her, to hold her, but of course he couldn't and the last time she touched him she had flinched away. So much more than space separated them. There was time and unwillingness and a total ignorance as to how to bridge such a divide.

"Your room's just as you left it," he offered. "If you'd like to clean up, then we can talk when you're a little more… settled."

"Yeah, I guess I'd better."

She hesitated. He didn't read her mind. He had promised, so long ago, and it had been the most important thing to her even when he lay on the sand with a bullet wound. Even then, she worried about his reading her mind. Now he wouldn't.

Only, he did not want to watch her turn away.

"It will be all right, Raven. You're home now."

Her smile did not reach her eyes.

As he waited for Raven, Charles poured himself a drink and telepathically checked in on the students.

Laurie and Ororo were getting along again. They sat on the floor in Laurie's room; she was painting Ororo's toenails, while Ororo tried not to kick and giggle, her instincts when someone touched her feet. Usually this would not be the younger girl's idea of a fun evening, but Laurie's good mood was literally contagious. Thanks to her power, her feelings bubbled over onto whoever happened to be nearby.

Doug sat in his room, struggling to read his Latin book. It was the sort of situation that would frustrate almost anyone: his ability allowed him to understand every language as though it were his mother tongue, and as a result he had great difficulty seeing or hearing things in anything but English. Almost anyone would have been annoyed, but Doug was too good-natured. The steady supply of chocolate chip cookies stashed in his dresser helped.

Finally, Scott and Ruth were finishing cleaning up the kitchen. Charles did not catch what Ruth said, nor what Scott mumbled in return, but it had both of them laughing. She dried her hands and brushed soap suds off his face.

Only a year ago, the house had been empty but for Hank, Charles, and Scott. Charles had been recovering and Scott growing less withdrawn. It had been nothing like this, though. It had not been a home full of friends and family who were happy to be around one another.

What better place for Raven to return to?

"All my clothes smell like mothballs," she announced, walking into the study. Charles had settled himself at the chess board and Raven plunked down opposite him. A shower had certainly revived her, even making the bruise on the side of her jaw seem to fade, and he bit back a comment about the bathrobe. It wasn't about her looks. It was about the three teenage boys who also lived here. He supposed Sean would have resented being lumped in with the students, but he _was_ a month and some shy of twenty.

Instead of commenting on Raven's choice of apparel, Charles asked, "Would you prefer moth holes?"

"No."

"Well then. Do you expect to be here a while?"

"I… I don't know," Raven said. She could take so many forms, but she could not hide the lostness in her face. "I don't know where else I can go, I…"

"You always have a home with me, Raven." Charles resisted the urge to add 'you know that', because it seemed perhaps she did not. He should have been better to her. He had tried, truly he had, but he had been so young even a few years back.

She nodded.

"What's happened?"

Raven nodded again, sniffled, then she sobbed and the whole story came pouring out: "Oh my god, Charles, it's all fallen apart. Erik is gone and he's not coming back, and without him, the rest of the Brotherhood, they're—they're all fighting and no one seems to know what they, what we're supposed to be doing! They're all just fighting to be in charge and we need him back, we need Erik."

Charles thought through this. In some ways, Erik's Brotherhood falling apart was good news. Twice last year there had been some news broadcast that led to the X-Men zipping off to minimize damage as much as possible. Luckily, those times were past. The reason, however…

"So it's true, then," Charles said.

The images were grainy. They didn't talk about it. He hadn't wanted to believe it.

But: "Erik assassinated the President."

"Yes."

Charles sighed and ran a hand over his face. Why had Erik done such a thing? Charles had no special love for politicians in general, but President Kennedy had seemed like a truly good man. Equal opportunities and affirmative action had seemed important in theory, but seeing how attitudes toward African-Americans affected someone he cared about… well, there was a reason Raven chose to be a blond-haired white woman, wasn't there?

So Charles had more and more respect for what President Kennedy tried to do. Not that President Johnson seemed so different, but he did not have the same presence, charisma—there was something about Kennedy.

And Erik killed him.

"Why would he… oh, Erik." There had always been hate and anger in him. Charles had seen that. He had hoped the good might win out, though. Erik wasn't a bad person, just one who had been hurt.

"Guess I'll go settle in, then," Raven said.

Charles recognized the frustration in her tone, but there was only so much he could do. Learning the truth about Erik had been a blow. He felt numb, like he was floating, and like he might be sick. It was easier than thinking he might break down and weep.

Raven needed him, though, so Charles took a breath. "You don't have to look that way. If you want, your… your blue side… the others won't mind. They're used to Hank."

She sneered and he had never seen that sort of ugliness in her. "You mean I won't frighten your new friends?"

"Raven."

"You know, there's nothing wrong about the way I look, Charles."

"I know that—"

"But I won't frighten your students. That's what matters, right?"

"Raven, please. Forget I said anything, all right? I'm just happy to have you home."

"Yeah. Me too."


	3. Lightning and Water

"I'm freezing," Laurie announced. She, along with her classmates, was trooping through the woody area Professor Xavier apparently owned. Just how expansive the property was surprised most of them.

She was as well bundled up as any of them. In fact, as a New York native, she was one of the most prepared. All four of the students wore coats, hats, and scarves. Ororo had not thought to wear her mittens and had her hands shoved in the pockets of her pink coat, while neither she nor Scott had boots.

Neither dared complain lest they be subjected to the horror of a shopping trip.

Hank, ahead of them, wore a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He didn't have a coat and wasn't ready for anyone to see his blueness. Charles had offered his stepfather's coat, but although the man had been big, he wasn't Hank. So Charles's stepfather's coat had a tear in the back and Hank had a blanket.

"Raise your feet higher," Hank suggested.

"How will that help?" Laurie asked.

"Increased exertion will raise your body temperature. We're nearly there."

"Oh—we're going to the pond?" Scott asked.

"Pond?" Doug shot back.

Scott nodded. "Sure. Is that where we're going, Hank?"

"Yes, it is."

"Swell."

Doug nudged Scott. "No one says swell."

"Groovy?"

This time he made a face. "Swell suits you better."

Scott shoved him. "Race you to the pond!"

As only Scott knew the way, he had to lead. It didn't matter. He was the fastest runner, even with snow on the ground. The day was crisp and clear, albeit very cold, and a perfect day to be outside. Spring liked to turn in an instant, so the good weather was worth taking advantage of.

Ice covered the pond. Scott skidded to a stop before touching it. Doug stopped short, scrambled, and crashed to his knees. Ororo nearly tripped over him, but Scott caught her.

"Come on, Doug."

Doug took Scott's hand and hauled himself up. "Thanks."

"Well, this looks cozy," Laurie commented.

It was bad timing. Laurie had not had an easy go of it settling in. Coming up on her three classmates in a huddle had to feel more exclusive than anything. Doug hastily moved away, but Ororo shrugged.

"You're warm," she told Scott. "Africans aren't built for snow!"

"That's an interesting remark, Ororo," Hank commented. He resettled his glasses and looked at the four of them.

That morning, Professor Xavier canceled his classes. There would be no math, English, or ethics discussions. Hank taught science, but Professor Xavier taught genetics. Ororo and Doug worked primarily with Ruth on controlling their powers, but Laurie and Scott worked with Professor Xavier and assumed there would be no such lessons today.

It wouldn't matter so much, except that the same thing happened yesterday and they hadn't even seen Charles or Raven. And the first day most of the kids enjoyed their free time. The second, Hank put a stop to it, sent the students back to their rooms to put on outdoor gear, and told them they were going for a walk. Now four sets of eyes watched him—three visibly—awaiting an explanation.

"Skin color, hair color, and eye color are determined by a pigment called melanin," Hank explained. "One thing melanin does is protect us from harmful effects of sunlight. So groups evolved to colder climates, less sun exposure, generally do have lighter skin—for example, Ororo and Professor Xavier, respectively from warm and cold climates. Although her lessened resistance to cold is actually an adaptation to warmer temperatures that can be reversed within a few years. You'll adjust in time.

"Every trait we can observe serves an evolutionary purpose. Look around you and you'll spot a dozen evolutionary mutations. We're here to observe. Find something. Consider or discuss what you observe and what purpose it might serve. If you can bring something with you, you may, for our group discussion. If you find a trait but can think of no purpose it might serve, that is also fine."

"Are you going to be teaching us now?" Laurie asked. There was no disrespect in it. The shake-up around the school had none of the kids happy. Ororo and Doug minded the least. Laurie just disliked change and wanted to know what would happen.

"I'm a substitute," Hank replied. "Professor Xavier will be teaching again soon."

The students glanced at one another. Then Scott turned and knelt by the pond. He pulled his shirt sleeve over his hand and scrubbed at the ice.

"Want it melted?" Ororo asked. "Lightning would do a trick."

"No!" Hank, Scott, and Laurie chorused.

Ororo's eyes widened and her cheeks reddened. "Well what's the problem!" she huffed.

Laurie opened her mouth, most eager to correct the younger girl, but Scott got there first: "Can we work in pairs, Hank? Me and Ororo?"

"Sure."

Scott grabbed her hand. "C'mon. I had an idea—over here…"

He glanced over his shoulder once, just to make sure Doug had taken the cue to work with Laurie. He had. That left Scott free to drag Ororo off. In truth, the idea was vague—something about pine trees—he just wanted her away from Laurie. They could talk about lightning and water later.

Scott was not able to fully participate in the lesson. What could he add, later, when the others talked about the dark shades of green they noticed? Instead, he thought about the Professor. Hank said that some plants almost hibernated in winter. Maybe that was what the Professor was doing.

He had done something similar last year, just after bringing Scott here. At the time, Scott had been glad. He had been new and shy and none too keen to talk to anyone, and that was all he thought about it. Now he wondered if this was normal. A normal hibernation?

Everyone else was thinking the same and Scott knew it. Nothing was the same with Professor Xavier conspicuously absent.

Even dinner was subdued, a looming absence without so much as an empty chair to fill it.

Alex and Sean were 'cooking' that night—picking up pizzas on their way home from school—and Alex didn't bother with formalities at the best of times. Today he slid the boxes onto the table, shouted, "Dinner!" and grabbed a slice. He didn't bother with a plate, either.

"Classy," Laurie commented.

Alex guided the pizza to his mouth with a single finger.

His manners and unasked questions aside, the meal passed in relative peace.

Scott didn't like it. They weren't allowed to miss meals, not without a good reason—if you were sick or you were crying or you were Hank and busy in the lab. Initially, the rule meant, 'Scott is not to hide from everyone else and live off of peanut butter sandwiches', but no one could deny the benefit it had. They were all together and (relatively) happy.

And now Professor Xavier was gone. He was here, but didn't want to be around them, and that stung Scott. It made him nervous. Professor Xavier wasn't supposed to disappear, ignore the rules. He was supposed to be steady.

Scott caught himself chewing his fingernails and stopped. It didn't matter. Everyone ought to have a break, and they weren't going to pieces. And it didn't mean Raven mattered more than him.

Not that she shouldn't. Right? Because when he came right to the raw core of things, Raven was the Professor's sister. Scott was just some orphan boy he pitied.

Ruth closed her long fingers around Scott's wrist. She had good circulation, he thought. Warm hands.

"You are bleeding," she observed.

He had been biting his nails again.


	4. Standing and Conscious

_Erik, answer me._

Finding him had been difficult. When he first used Cerebro, Charles needed only remain standing and conscious—and even the 'standing' bit ceded more to his dignity than necessity.

Hank's clever machine had not been built for a telepath. How could it be? Hank had not known at the time that telepathy existed. No, he built the machine to amplify his own intelligence, to enhance what his own mind was capable of. It didn't work that way. He had then modified it to find others, when a complicated test no one else seemed to understand revealed exceptional brainwaves.

It had never worked for anyone but Charles, though. It likely would. Emma Frost, he supposed, might be able to use it—over his dead body—but only Charles had thus far. The machine needed a mind already capable of superhuman feats.

Nevertheless, seeking a certain type of brainwaves and searching for an individual were different tasks. The strain of not only controlling his own power but his own amplified, mechanized power was like a tear in Charles's brain. Sweat rolled down his face.

After Raven arrived, seeking out Erik seemed the rational step. Charles managed to focus on that one mind and issue what he hoped was a telepathic whisper.

Erik did not respond.

He sent only emptiness, the incredible self-control of keeping his thoughts blank.

His mind had always burned hot with anger. Erik was intelligent, too, but it was the anger that defined him, that made him who he allowed himself to become. Given what he did, he belonged in prison. He was still a friend, though. He always would be.

"Oh, Erik, what have you done?"

Later, Cerebro would become more impressive. Now it was a dull metal helmet in a room of wires—Hank's paradise. Charles wiped the sweat from his face.

This was the morning after Raven arrived, the morning he first canceled classes. He sent a telepathic message to Ruth and Hank that they could do as they liked. A day off wouldn't hurt the children. As a private school, no one forced them to observe holidays, so three-day weekends were a touch rarer. Of course a group of rowdy teenagers would love a free Wednesday.

He went to see Raven.

She had slept in her blond form and not brushed her hair. Charles did not recognize the skirt and blouse she wore, but that didn't mean much. Keeping Raven out of the shops had been a major chore of his young life and in the end she needed very little in the way of clothing. Her skin was thick, her feet hard, and the most she really needed was raingear. The rest she could produce as though part of her body.

Likely she had done that now. He found her in her room, curled up in an armchair.

"So this really is a school now," she said.

Charles nodded. School had never been Raven's favorite thing. She claimed she wasn't smart. In a way, that was true. Her intellect never rivaled Hank's or even Charles'. Her unwillingness to study was the real problem, though. School bored her.

So he understood that she might have doubts about coming home to a school.

"Not everyone is involved with the school. Alex and Sean…"

"No, they wouldn't be."

"I only meant that if you intend to stay here, you won't be out of place."

"That's what you want, isn't it?" Raven asked. "For me to stay here?"

Charles understood from her tone that he would have a rough time of finding the right thing to say. Raven was upset, and when Raven was upset everything was wrong.

"Is that so wrong of me to want?" he wondered.

She sighed. "I guess not. Things were different with Erik. He understood me and that's something you've never been able to do."

Again he wondered what he was supposed to say. In a way, Raven was like Laurie. They were proper American girls with concerns and troubles he simply couldn't understand. He wanted to, but he was a genius telepath, not a miracle worker!

"I hate seeing you like this."

At first, Charles didn't understand. Then, "It's not so bad. I'm used to it, anyway." The wheelchair was a part of his life. After a year and a half, he wasn't angry anymore. Even—to his surprise—at Erik.

Raven leaned forward, nearer.

"Don't you remember who you used to be?" she asked. "You were going to be a professor. A breakthrough researcher. You were going to—"

"And you were going to be with me," Charles cut in. For years, they were inseparable. Only in retrospect did he realize what a strain those years must have been on Raven, the amount of time spent hidden, lying to so many people she met. She had genuinely cared for him, though. He cared for her, too.

"You changed, Charles."

"Maybe."

The strange thing was that, even as they grew up, Raven never showed signs of developing independence. She could have. Charles would have seen to it that she had all the financial support she needed, had she chosen to pursue a college education. He had tried talking with her about careers. He had never stopped her from dating—been a touch protective, perhaps, but not stopped her.

It had made the loss doubly hard. He never thought they would part ways, especially not like that.

As happy as he was to have her home, he found himself worried she would leave again—or that she would see how he had changed and not like it. Raven and Erik both called him out for being different, for lowering his expectations of himself. Charles had never seen it that way.

"Charles…"

Raven's face crumpled.

"Charles, I just want to feel safe again," she whimpered and burst into tears. "I just…"

Her appearance shifted, patches of her skin turning blue, then pale again.

He couldn't help her. Suddenly his earlier remarks about the wheelchair were untrue, because his inability to go to her, to hold someone he loved, just about broke his heart.

He just needed to be alone.


	5. What Nebraskans Do

Alex had two textbooks open on his desk and a draft of an essay half-scribbled in his notebook when the knock came. He was happy enough to step away. Schoolwork didn't come naturally to Alex. He worked hard at it and did well, usually.

In a way, he considered himself a student at the mansion. It wasn't just his power. It was also his studies. Sometimes Alex needed Charles's help, too.

Sometimes he just needed a break.

"C'mon in." Alex held the door for Scott. He saw the look on his little brother's face, but that wasn't new. Scott didn't like the mess. He didn't like the laundry pile, the candy bar wrappers, he definitely didn't like the empty beer bottles—but he kept that to himself.

Alex offered a bag of Fritos. He liked to snack while he studied.

"No thanks. I was hoping you could tell me about that lady from the other day."

"Raven?"

Scott nodded.

Alex realized no one had bothered to explain Raven to the kids and he knew who they would look to. Officially, Scott was fifteen years old, which made him the second-youngest. Only almost-fourteen-year-old Ororo was younger.

Maybe because Scott had been around the longest, maybe because he showed leadership in dangerous situations, the others would look to him. It was no secret he was closer with the adults than anyone else was. Alex understood that Scott came to him for an explanation.

"Have a seat. The bed's pretty clean, just sit, okay?"

Scott nodded and settled on the bed. He crossed his legs Indian-style, then thought better of it and shifted to lotus—not a challenge when gym class meant agility and martial arts training. Alex spun his desk chair and sat facing his brother.

"Okay. Raven isn't a bad person, you've gotta keep that in mind. We were friends. She was like a kid, though." He thought about that day at the CIA, the day he broke the statue, how Raven hadn't understood when they were all in trouble. Or the look on her face when she realized humans hated her.

Those were moments of innocence. Raven, despite her age, had been a little childlike. It was her choice to go with Erik that tainted Alex's opinion of her. No one filled Scott in on the details of that situation and Alex wouldn't be the one, either.

For a moment, Alex just watched Scott, trying to decide how much to tell him and from which truth.

Alex was fairly new to the big bro game. He knew a few things. He knew that he always sided with Scott, unless it was just the two of them, just like he could beat the snot out of the brat but God help anyone else who tried. But this was about the work of tweezers and Alex was a hammer.

"Raven is Charles's sister. And she saved Hank's life. She doesn't always make the best choices, but this is her home. You're a Nebraskan, Scotty, so you do what Nebraskans do. Be polite. Mind your manners. Go down in the basement and ride out the storm."

"The basement—"

"The basement is a metaphor."

"Of course, because there are no tornadoes in New York. Are there?"

Alex chuckled. "Who's your best friend?"

"You are. Or… maybe Hank."

"Okay—but think younger. Smaller. Lighter hair."

Scott's brow furrowed. "Ororo can't do tornadoes. Not that I know of, anyway. Raven doesn't sound like Professor Xavier."

"I don't think they're biological siblings, but he calls her his sister and he's protective."

Scott leaned forward and lowered his head. Alex had the impression that his eyes were closed, though of course that was impossible to judge with Scott.

"Were you there for what happened on the beach?" Scott did not know the details of that day. He only knew the term, 'what happened on the beach' or 'that day on the beach'.

Alex nodded. "We all were."

"Even… her?"

Another nod. "That was the day everything changed. Raven and Erik left. Charles wasn't the same, obviously, he—uh—that was when…"

Seeing his brother struggle for words, Scott offered, "When he was crippled?" Maybe because he hadn't known Charles before, he had no trouble saying it. Or maybe because he all but worshipped the man and thus anything associated with him was fantastic. For Alex, though, Charles had changed—had been broken.

"Yeah."

"She left before it—"

"After."

"After?"

"Right after. I shouldn't have told you that," Alex realized. "Look, it was a complicated situation. A lot had happened. Don't tell the other kids about that, okay?"

Scott nodded. He wouldn't tell them. "It was Erik. That's right, isn't it? Alex, I'm not stupid, when he showed up last year you couldn't get me out of the room fast enough." That only took about a nudge, but there was a reason behind it.

"Erik you need to worry about, but Raven's harmless. She probably just wanted to come home."

"So she isn't dangerous?"

Alex thought for a moment. Raven was his friend, but there was a lot of distance between them. He would trust her with a secret, not with his brother.

"Maybe. Just be careful."

Scott nodded. "I will."

"Now buzz off, I got work to do."

"Yeah, yeah." Scott hopped off the bed and made his way to the door. He paused for a moment, though, his hand on the doorknob. "And don't call me Scotty."

"Whatever you say, Scotty."

"Jerk." Scott gave a rude gesture to the back of Alex's head.

"Twerp."

"'Night."

"G'night, Scotty."


	6. Most People

On Thursday evening, after two days of Professor Xavier's absence, Scott convinced Ororo to discuss their philosophy assignment. Again. They hid from the wet weather, curled up as close as they dared to the space heater in the sitting room. That thing would burn you—Ororo had learned the hard way.

"Do you think he'll remember?" she asked.

"He'll remember," Scott said, sounding very sure for someone afraid he had been forgotten. He didn’t like change. "The assignment was, is it better for a leader to be feared or loved."

Philosophy assignments often involved reading a piece of text, but sometimes, as with this one, they were simply assigned a question to consider.

"When I lived among the Maasai," Ororo said, "they loved their leaders more than feared them, but they had many traditions I couldn't understand."

"Like what?"

As far as Scott was concerned, his childhood had been normal. There was the orphanage and the experiments and the day his eyes started exploding—but there was also a yellow school bus (back when he saw yellow), Sundays at church, snow days. Ororo's childhood fascinated him, but he rarely asked about it. He had a tendency to put his foot in his mouth when he tried.

Apparently today was no different. "Girl things. But I would have to be very, very afraid to go along with stuff."

Scott mulled this over. As he did, he thought that this was very close to the radiator. He was actually beginning to feel warm and wriggled back a few inches.

"Weren't you in the desert?"

"Yes."

"Don't you need other people in the desert, to survive? I mean," Scott hastily amended, "don't most people."

Ororo walked into the desert and walked out the other side. She told him so. Given the way she called and banished rain in the blink of an eye just to show off, he believed her.

"Well… of course."

"So, in a way, those people who led the Maasai—they were feared. They didn't have to be bullies."

Ororo went quiet for a moment and Scott saw something flash across her face. She knew he was right. That was why she went to shove him, but he dodged. Ororo unbalanced and would have fallen against the heater, but Scott caught her.

She shrugged him off.

"Well, what about you? You have a leader you love."

"President Johnson?" Scott asked. He had been known to snicker at the name from time to time and respected the man, but he wouldn't say he loved the President.

Ororo rolled her eyes. "No, stupid."

"Don't call me stupid, I'm not stupid."

"Professor Xavier."

"I don't—he's not—but he's not my leader, he's…" Scott trailed off, looking for the end of his sentence. The Professor was not in any official capacity his guardian, but he was the nearest thing to a father Scott had. Did that make him a leader, then? He was the school principal…

Accepting that Professor Xavier counted as a leader, Scott realized he had experience with both sorts. He wouldn't say he loved the Professor—he wouldn't say it, but it was true, wasn't it?

A memory arose, unbidden, of early in his time at the orphanage. He remembered that he was only about seven years old but he understood that Mr. Milbury, the man in charge, was a bully. He had taken a special interest in Scott, near as the boy could guess because of his then-latent powers. And sometimes Scott had dragged his feet, had cried, had looked at Milbury with the most intense hatred a small child can muster. That time he hadn't, though. He didn't know why it happened, but he remembered Milbury slapping him so hard his head hit the wall and everything went tilty.

"Loved, then," Scott ceded softly.

He pulled his knees up to his chest. The trouble with memories, they were like pulling an apple from the bottom of the pyramid. The others fell. Other days, other punishments—some he deserved—and the way his stupid, weak voice felt crying for his mommy.

"Um, Scott? You okay?"

_Stop whining, you worthless little—_

"I'm fine. Cold."

_Your mother should have got rid of you._

"You looked up the answer, didn't you? About fear and love?"

He nodded.

"What's his name? Nico?"

"Niccolo."

"Niccolo," she repeated, over-emphasizing the first syllable. "Fancy pants."

"I'm not being a fancy pants, that's his name. Anyway, he says both are best, but it's safer to be feared. Like, if people fear you, of course they'll do what you want. Love is for helping people, not protecting yourself. And… if they're too afraid, they'll… they'll fight you or run away or something. You know why we study this stuff, right?"

"Because Professor Xavier says we have to."

"No, because we're mutants. Most people won't ever have to make big choices like the ones in the book, but being mutants—well, like the others do. One day we might go. It's because he wants us to be able to make good choices."

Ororo rolled her eyes. "You're such a geek," she told him, though she made it sound like a compliment.

"So that's what you do here?"

Ororo and Scott turned, each instinctively shifting closer to the other. They had been too involved in their conversation to hear someone approach. Now they noticed, now that she had announced herself. The woman stood in the doorway.

'The woman'.

Scott stood up. "Hello, Miss Raven."

"That's what you do," she repeated, "he tells you how special you are because of your powers?"

"We learn what our powers mean," Scott replied, picking his words carefully. "How to use them. Mostly it's a school."

Raven nodded. "So how does it work?" she asked. "Some guy shows up on your doorstep and tells your parents you're a mutant?"

Scott glanced at Ororo, more than a little ashamed that she wasn't who he wanted here. He wanted Alex. Alex protected Scott. It wasn't often he needed protecting and this was the first time Scott remembered wanting his big brother to help him… or admitted that Alex was his big brother.

Raven made him very uncomfortable. She was oozing anger. He didn't understand why, though he knew he was caught in the crossfire.

Ororo volunteered for this one. She climbed to her feet. "My parents are dead. Professor Xavier and Ruth came to see me in the orphanage."

"Oh…." Raven looked like she had been punched. And, at the thought, Scott noticed that her bruises seemed much faded. It was strange, though. Alex said they weren't biological siblings, so mustn't Raven have lost her parents, too?

"I control the weather," Ororo continued brightly. "What can you do?"

Scott realized she wasn't speaking as she normally did. Her voice was a little higher, a little brighter—she was manipulating the situation. He admired that she thought of it and how well she did. He couldn't.

Raven, the Raven they saw, melted. Her skin turned blue and scales grew; her hair shortened.

Ororo merely raised an eyebrow, but Scott quickly looked at the floor.

"Yeah. This is my true form, so—"

"Oh, he doesn't care that you're blue," Ororo explained. "He doesn’t know what blue is! He doesn't like the…" She motioned to her own, less developed chest.

"Ororo!"

"I mean, he likes them—"

"Ororo!"

"—but here in America they want them covered."

"Better?" Raven asked.

Scott risked a glance at her. She was still mostly naked, but now wore a t-shirt and shorts over her blue form. He nodded. "Thanks. It's not that I don't—I mean, of course you have nice—I mean—uh…" He looked at Ororo, because if not for her, this was the point at which he would excuse himself. But Alex said that Raven could make dumb choices and Ororo was only thirteen. Scott couldn't leave her alone.

"Are they real?" Ororo asked.

"Ororo—"

"Your clothes," she clarified. "Are they real?"

"Um… no," Raven said. "I can make my skin look and feel like cloth, but I can't make it colder, so if it's something like a coat or shoes it's easier to just wear them. Just in case. You know how some people can be about exposing our powers."

From the way she said 'some people', it was clear she meant someone specific. Scott could guess who. He refused to play along, though. He didn't like her jabbing at Professor Xavier like that and if she wanted to insult the man who had saved his life, he wasn't going to make that easy on her.

Ororo asked, "Are you going to stay here, too?"

No matter what Alex said, Scott hoped not. He didn't think he liked Raven much.

"I think so."

…well, crap.


	7. One in Ten

Saturday morning found Scott, Ororo, Hank, and Doug in the lab. An eclectic host of substances cluttered the table before them: Elmer's glue, starch from the laundry room, a pitcher of water, a mixing bowl, a mixing spoon, and all the food coloring in the house.

"How much glue do we have?" Hank asked.

Ororo gave the bottle one last shake. "Almost three cups."

"How close?"

To say her studies were remedial, relative to her age group, would be an understatement. Fractions and the imperial system of measurement were fairly new. So in response to Hank's question, she frowned at the measuring cup, looking for an answer.

"Two and three-quarters cups," Scott offered.

Ororo jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

"We need equal amounts of water and starch," Hank reported. He reached for the water pitcher.

Doug took this cue to measure out the starch and Scott scrounged up a rubber scraper to get as much glue as possible into the bowl. Ororo, meanwhile, played with the food dyes, pouring yellow and red drop by drop into the glue.

"It'll dilute," Doug warned.

"Dilute."

Although she had lived in the United States for less than a year, Ororo's English was very good. She understood nearly everything said to her. This was an exception, because she had no idea what Doug meant.

"The color will become lighter when we add the starch and water," Hank explained.

Ororo shrugged and added more food coloring.

It did, indeed, dilute. The substance changed, became thicker and stickier, like wet bubble gum.

"Groovy," Doug said.

"Gross," Ororo said. She meant it as a positive.

Scott saw what Ororo intended a moment before she did it, just enough time to duck out of the way. A splat of orange slime hit Doug's cheek instead.

Doug had no poker face.

He grinned.

Ororo swore.

The next thing anyone knew, she was hiding under a table in the entryway. It wasn't a very good table, not useful for much, not even a hiding place for anyone bigger. Scott sheltered by the stairs, while Doug hid just around the corner. As for Hank, he did not hide at all. Instead he dangled upside down in the center of the room, the wooden bowl cradled in his arm.

Ororo hurled a glob of slime at him.

Hank dodged and turned to retaliate. The look on Ororo's face gave him a clue as to what happened behind him. She aimed across the room, but Scott was faster.

Slime hit the back of Hank's head. "Hey!" he protested.

Another glob hit his shoulder. The stuff was cold and slick, but completely harmless, even at that velocity.

"Ingrates!" Hank cried, all in good fun. "Cowards! Show yourselves!"

The room erupted in slime hurled from every direction, interrupted when a carefully pitched voice cut through the laughter: "What's all this? Hank… get off the bloody chandelier."

The slime stopped, laughter died down, and the students emerged from their hiding places. Hank flipped to the table directly beneath him, then to the ground, not spilling a drop of slime as he did. They regarded the Professor uncertainly. Really he had been gone for only a few days, but it was so strange that none knew what to expect.

He looked pleasant enough. "And what's this… stuff?"

"A liquid polymer," offered Doug, always happy with a new vocabulary term.

"Is that so."

"It's science," Ororo said, which was true, "and we were using the tactics Ruth said about," which was a massive stretch, "so we were studying."

Charles nodded. "Indeed."

Ororo seemed the least bothered by his disappearance. He supposed that made sense: she learned long ago not to rely on adults, so they could not let her down. From Doug and Hank he saw confusion and concern. "Extra credit?" she appealed. "Perhaps not." Ororo huffed, but it was for show.

He had known where his greatest challenge would lie. Scott looked at the ground and had a nail in his mouth, though given the state of them Charles wondered how he had anything left to chew.

He drew in a breath to speak.

"We should clean up," Doug said. "Ororo?"

"Why me?"

"Because… because you're smaller and I said so," which prompted a round of laughs. He was big, but as tough as jelly. Nevertheless, Ororo and Scott followed him to retrieve cleaning supplies, leaving Hank and Charles to talk.

The two men headed into the next room.

"How are you?" Hank asked. It was not a formality.

"I'm all right. How have you been?"

"Fine."

"The students?"

"Everyone's been fine. How's Raven?"

"She's all right."

"Despite how things were between us, Raven mattered to me. Maybe not… how she wanted to, but…" Hank wasn't stupid. He wasn't particularly clever in social situations, but he knew Raven had been flirting with him and he cared more about his experiments. That must have stung.

Charles nodded. "She knows that, Hank."

What Hank said next came as very much a surprise: "Ruth thinks she's been sneaking around. She ran into Scott in the kitchen last night."

"That's not uncommon."

"She said he caught a glass with his right hand."

"Scott is a fifteen-year-old boy, there isn't a sport under the sun he won't play."

A hungry teenager catching things was scarcely remarkable. More remarkable, to Charles, was that Ruth would say these things about Raven. He heard her voice in Hank's memory— _it is a good test with Scott. Only one person in ten is left-handed._

But why would Ruth have tested him, anyway?

Charles shook his head. "This place has changed since she lived here. If it was Raven, Scott makes a good disguise. He's quiet, he fits in here. Raven's trying to adjust. Ruth never should have done that and you shouldn't be encouraging her."

Hank disapproved. It was written all over his face.

Before either of them had a chance to speak, they heard a shriek from the other room. Hank bounced back and grinned. Charles needed a moment more, but he didn't worry.

He needn't have. Ororo's head was wet and soapy and she and Doug were grappling. Apparently even cleaning up slime was fun in the right company. The two knocked over a bucket of water, prompting an objection from Scott—"Some of us are trying to clean here!"

Ororo and Doug paused, looked at one another, and reached a conclusion. That was enough of fighting each other.

Scott didn't stand a chance.

* * *

 

Charles spent a good deal of free time in his study anyway and found that, on Sunday night, he had quite a lot to do. His students were nearly a week off schedule. Oh, he knew that was his responsibility, but his plans needed a little altering.

A part of him regretted the school now. He pressed the kids to the back of his mind, the ones who would have been lost—Doug and Laurie, confused; Ororo and Scott in orphanages—but Raven. His first promise was to Raven and the school took him away from her.

Now he only needed to focus, but focus eluded him. He reviewed his syllabi. Things that seemed so aggravating and pointless as a student made good sense as a teacher, kept them on track.

Or, in this case, helped them make up for falling behind.

Over the past few months, Charles found himself appreciating syllabi. He needed to keep track. Why, then, could he not just focus—

A knock at the door and Scott stepped into the room. "Um, Professor? Glad I found you."

Charles raised his eyebrows. Casual suited Scott poorly. At least, faking casual suited Scott poorly. What was actually going on? He didn't have time to sort this out.

"I've spoken with Ororo and she'd as soon sleep in 'stead of doing philosophy, and Hank said he could help me with math for a while. So. Okay, now you know—good night—"

Scott started to leave, but Charles called him back:

"Wait."

Charles motioned to one of the chairs at his desk and Scott looked away. It was a poor ruse, a child's ruse, like he had been looking that way the entire time and couldn't have noticed.

"Don't sulk," Charles said, an accusatory edge to his tone.

"I'm not sulking."

"Scott, you're fifteen years old—"

"No, I'm not."

"As you seem to recall exclusively when you don't like what you hear," Charles retorted, "but you're a teenager and you are my student and whether you like it or not you will listen to me. Understood?"

Scott's brow furrowed briefly, then he nodded.

"I can't have this right now. I can't have this attitude from you."

Scott nodded. "I'm sorry, sir."

The slip threw both of them. Scott took refuge in respect. He used to overuse it as an alternative to honest interaction and Charles would never take that away, but he had forbidden Scott from saying 'sir' when he was afraid.

He was afraid now.

He wasn't terrified, but he was nervous enough to chew his thumbnail. Nothing was permanent in Scott's world. Everyone had a breaking point, everyone tired of him.

"It's just that there's a lot of us now," Scott persisted, "and you don't have to do everything yourself. I thought—when I first came here, you had all that time. You took care of me. I don't want to take that away from her."

And he could do his class planning in the mornings, more time for Raven without butting his head against a brick wall trying to explain algebra to Scott. He was a diligent student but simply couldn't seem to grasp the concepts.

"I can help Ororo with reading, too. She said that would be okay."

"That would be helpful," Charles agreed. "Thank you."

Scott nodded and left.

For a while, he read a lot of children's books from the local library. Because he was a minor, he needed a parental consent form to check out anything else. They were simplistic and silly, almost sweet with the way children had parents and homes and always a happy ending.

Scott sort of liked that, but he doubted Ororo would. The difference between them, he thought, was that Ororo could pretend in reality so why would she want to with fiction. He remembered how she talked to Raven, affecting innocence when he knew she was messing with the woman.

Scott wasn't like that. He tried to be what people needed, because he wasn't Ororo and he couldn't pretend.

For now, he went back to his room and grabbed his sneakers. He padded to the front door in his socks, not bothering with the lights. When he left, he shut the door gently.

The weather wasn't pleasant and it was dark out, but the world made more sense when he ran.

And wasn't breaking the rules, not really. Curfew said he had to be home by nine and he was supposed to check in with the Professor if he left, but he was staying on the property.

Besides, he had the sense no one would notice.


	8. Looks, Brains, Athleticism

There were three classrooms at the Xavier Institute, plus the grassy lawn and the padded end of the bomb shelter which were used for gym class.

Hank used his lab. He had repaired anything repairable by now, replaced the rest, and kept anything potentially dangerous away from the students.

Charles used an old sitting room, made up like a Socratic gathering of comfortable chairs.

Ruth counted herself a traditionalist. The desks may have been built from flat packs, but they were desks. Last summer, she practically had a work crew with Sean, Alex, and Scott jumping at the chance to build things. (They had been less keen to help clean up.)

Ruth had desks. She had maps on the walls. She had a blackboard. But seeing as they hadn't any bells, she kept an alarm clock and that was what signaled to the students that class was over.

"Before you go I want to talk to you about tonight," she said.

Laurie, Doug, and Ororo looked to Scott. He shrugged. They expected an answer from him, but he had no more answer than he had provided for the limp and bruises he showed up with that morning.

"You all know that Raven, Professor Xavier's sister, is staying with us," Ruth began.

Only Charles was addressed that way. Ruth was Ruth and Hank was Hank, but Charles was Professor Xavier. Normally the formal address made Ruth feel a twist of giddiness. She called him that in bed sometimes; it made her laugh and that made him smile. English people don't laugh. Not in bed. Not with someone else there.

Today the name was simply a fact.

"Eventually he will introduce her to everyone. He is sensible, so he will do this all at once, and that means at dinnertime. Tonight, tomorrow. I am telling you this now because you deserve to know, because this is your home. Some of you have a little more experience with new arrivals," she said, nodding at Scott. He had been the first student and so needed to adapt when the others arrived. To Scott, even Ruth was a new arrival.

"Maybe you have less experience. We are mutants, yes? All of us. We are here together. All of us know what it means to be alone, so all of us will help Raven feel welcome. All of us will remember that we are welcome, too. Okay? Good? Good. Now you can go."

Laurie, Ororo, and Scott did, but Doug hung back. "Are you all right?"

"I am fine, thank you."

Doug frowned. "No… no, you're not," he observed.

"Doug." His name was a warning. Ruth shook her head.

"Oh. Right. Sorry, Ruth."

Doug read other people's body language well. All he needed was to touch on the right general subject area and he would know what was bothering Ruth. Just because he could know did not mean he had a right.

* * *

 

Ruth was right about dinner. They set an extra place and Raven arrived to fill it.

Actually, Raven arrived to fill Sean's seat, so Sean took Ororo's and Alex took Scott's. Ororo grinned and bolted for Ruth's seat; Scott took the new place. Doug evaluated the room and noticed that Raven looked a touch hurt and anxious, maybe because no one had sat beside her. So he did.

Sean nudged Alex.

"What's up?" Alex asked.

"What's with the dejected look?"

"I'm not dejected. I'm reading. Just let me finish this chapter."

Alex wasn't reading. He was mimicking his brother.

Doug raised both middle fingers.

"Douglas!"

"It wasn't me, Professor, it was Alex," Doug replied.

Charles looked baffled, but given everyone else's laughter, he understood that he had stumbled upon a group joke.

"It won't happen again," Doug added.

Hank arrived, taking his usual seat.

"Not playing?" Sean asked.

Hank shook his head. "Can't. I am inimitable."

"So what's this game?" Raven asked.

Everyone looked to her.

"What? I can't play, too?"

"You might have an unfair advantage," Alex said.

"It was Raven, wasn't it? Your name? I'm sorry, I don't think we've really been introduced," Scott pitched his voice to be heard over the laughter. He shot a warning look at Alex. Of course he knew Raven's name; he had used it before. But someone needed to remember his manners.

"Yeah," Raven said. She had chosen her blond form for the evening, even though most of them had seen her blue.

Charles offered, "Raven is my sister."

Laurie rolled her eyes. Could that have been any more obvious?

"Really?" Scott asked. He turned to Raven. "Want to trade?"

Her tone was a touch ungenerous, almost a sneer as she asked, "Trade what?"

"Brothers."

It wasn't often Scott made a joke, but this one earned a round of laughter.

"Shut the f—ront door!" Alex cried.

"Who's your brother?" Raven asked. She looked at Doug. He and Scott were the only boys she had not met before.

"That'd be me," Alex said. "Obviously there's a lot that doesn't run in the family. Looks, brains, athleticism…"

"Hey!" Scott objected. "I'm good at soccer and baseball."

"Like I said, brains. Do I really need to mention your ball-handling skills?"

"Soccer is hands-free," Scott replied, though from the blush creeping across his face he understood exactly what Alex meant. "And—Mom?" he appealed to Ruth. "Professor? Come on, you would never let me talk that way at the table."

"You never talk that way at all," Alex shot back. "Hey, someone wanna pass the um… yellow stuff?"

"Couscous," Ororo informed him, passing the bowl.

"You're a couscous."

She burst out laughing.

"What'd I say?"

She was laughing too hard to explain. Finally, Ruth supplied, "Kus is a rude word in Hebrew. Ororo knows this."

"What does it mean?" Sean asked.

"It means 'oh dear, I appear to have lost my umbrella'," Ruth said.

"No it—" Doug began, but a look from Ruth silenced him. Doug's mind automatically translated everything into English, so he had not heard the Hebrew word at all.

"So this is who that, uh, robot went after?" Raven asked.

Suddenly the only sounds were cutlery against plates as everyone remembered that day. They knew now that the thing had been built to find mutants. It found Ororo, Scott, Laurie, and Doug while they were away from the school, which was as frightening to the teachers as the students, albeit in a different way. Now they were protected; Hank built a device that shielded them from whatever it was the thing searched out.

It didn't make this any more comfortable to discuss, though, as Charles explained: "Raven, time and a place, all right?"

"All right," Raven replied, her voice jangling. "Just thought you'd want to know they're still at it."

Laurie's fork fell, clattered off the edge of the plate and crashed to the floor. The other students looked equally upset by the knowledge.

"We'll discuss this later," Charles said, "I think that's enough."

"What do you mean still at it?" Ororo asked.

"Ororo."

"Why does everyone say my name that way?" she asked. "What do you mean still at it?"

"I mean they're going to start building those machines again," Raven said. "You thought they would stop? What, did you think they were only pretending to hate us so much—"

"Enough," Charles snapped. Then, more gently, "Raven, please. They're children."

Laurie pushed away from the table and began to cry. Ruth cast a filthy look at Raven, then followed Laurie out of the room.

 


	9. Plans

A telepathic call invited adult members of the household to Charles's study. After the mild disaster of dinner, he knew Ruth would need a bit of time and had waited before sending the request.

Raven arrived so quickly she might have been lingering in the hall. Her blond form melted away as she entered, replaced by her natural one.

Alex and Sean arrived together. They had been studying together since starting school a few months ago. As far as Charles could tell, that meant cussing each other out and joking around, one more excuse to hang out.

They both nodded greetings at Raven, Alex's a little more reserved. But then, Charles reasoned, Alex was a little more reserved. He talked more than Sean but he didn't say more.

Ruth, meanwhile, said plenty without speaking. The look of disapproval she shot Raven may actually have dropped the temperature ten degrees—and Charles thought in Celsius.

He gave the slightest shake of his head while Raven's attention was elsewhere, a silent request: Don't antagonize.

Ruth raised an eyebrow. They did not use telepathy to communicate. They did not need to. Her meaning was equally clear: You think I'm the bad guy here?

Well, wasn't she? Raven was obviously trying. Ruth could have been gentler with her.

Once Hank reached the study, however, none of it mattered. They had more important things to discuss, namely, "Raven," Charles began, "I'm sorry for interrupting you, earlier. Talking about what happened with the—the robots," powers were one thing, but robots were slightly more difficult to accept, "it's only that sometimes, for the children, it's upsetting. I know you only mentioned it because you had something to say."

Raven shrugged. "It's something we were looking into before Erik was arrested. We… they're re-creating the plans to build those machines. We would have stopped it—the Brotherhood would have stopped it—but everything fell apart when they took Erik…"

She shivered at the mention. Clearly, of all of this, Erik being arrested mattered the most to her. She brought them news of the plans, she didn't like that, but every time she mentioned Erik it was like watching a piece of her heart chip off.

Charles understood. Watching his two dearest friends take such a dark road hurt him, too. Sort of like watching Raven now, in pain, and being unable to comfort her.

"You want to steal the plans?" Sean guessed.

"That could be beneficial," Hank offered. "I can block their signals, that helps."

He had most of a broken robot and had more or less recreated it. However, Hank only had what was left after Scott, Ororo, Ruth, and he himself tore into the device. Many of the electronics had been damaged by lightning. The core systems were protected, but what Hank could only assume were extraneous pieces were fried.

"But that's assuming significant variation between the current plans and the last."

The previous plans had been stolen when the X-Men and Brotherhood together invaded a facility, destroyed their crop of robots and stole the plans. It had not been an easy task, though. Alex nearly died in the attempt.

Was just a threat of future violence worth another try at taking the plans?

Raven shook her head. "No," she said, "taking the plans isn't enough. We don't know who's behind this, but as long as they are, there'll be no stopping it. It's not just the work. We need to send a message."

"Dear Jerks," Sean imagined the letter aloud, "please stop trying to kill us. Thanks!"

"I mean a real message," Raven retorted. Her tone changed, her pattern of inflection—they may have been her own words, but they sounded like Erik's.

"She wants to kill somebody," Ruth stated.

Sean's jaw dropped.

"Who?" Alex asked.

"The architect," was Raven's reasoning, "the man behind all of this."

"Engineer," Hank said. "The man behind it will be an engineer."

"Whatever he is, he's the problem. We need to show that we will not stand for this, that mutantkind is protected!"

And every word, to Charles, was a knife through the heart.

Was it really so long ago he found her in this house, lost and alone? They were children then. Just children. They were innocent, alone until they found each other, and she was the first person he loved besides his parents.

When had she become so dark? When did she become someone who advocated killing, and did so with enthusiasm? She wanted them to… oh, Raven…

"We can't just kill someone," Sean said.

"Yeah," Alex agreed.

"This is survival," Raven insisted. She argued to Alex and Sean, though they both looked to Charles. "This is fighting for our kind, this is battle—"

"Enough," Ruth snapped. "Enough. You," directed at Raven, "are a foolish child and if you truly think this a battle you have never seen one." Ruth had. She didn't need to say it; she had reminded all of them, in the way she spoke, the way she held herself, that she was a soldier. She had literally fought for her people's survival, at least for the little parcel of land she believed would ensure it.

Now she shook her head. "I will not be a part of this and I have not trained the rest of you so you can."

Charles trained their powers, but Ruth trained their bodies. Because of her, Alex and Sean knew enough martial arts to hold their own in a brawl. Even Hank had picked up a few moves.

"You don't even want to talk about this in front of your children," Raven returned.

She was ready to be mean, Charles heard that much in her tone. Raven was mean when she was hurt and there was nothing he could do. Normally he could go to her and at that moment Charles wanted nothing more than to do that. Even more than he wanted this situation undone, more than he wanted the students to be safe, he wanted to go to his sister and hold her.

He couldn't, though. That was simply the way of things. He was broken; he couldn't.

Raven continued, "But you're okay with one coming back, taking them? Because that's the next step. Next they test it, Emma heard them—they take a human and a mutant, and they see that the machine knows which to kill."

Alex twitched. His hands were clenched in fists at his side. Charles did not need telepathy to know what he was thinking. Alex liked most of the students well enough, but if anyone threatened his brother… and that was what he heard now.

"Emma's a liar," Sean said, surprising the others. "What? She is. She's a liar. And she freaks me out, she's a little too into it when she fights. Remember?"

He nudged Alex, who nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, she is."

"She just wants to kill someone."

"Do we have any right doing this?" Hank asked. "I see your point, Raven, I do, but we can't kill someone over something they might help another person do—we can't stop science. And if they knew it was us…"

"This is an act of war," Ruth concluded for him. "Killing does not protect you. Declaring war on humankind, because we are not them—no. I want no part in this."

Frustration crossed Raven's face.

"Enough," Charles said. "Enough."

The others did not have to agree with her, but he wished they wouldn't go so far. They were going to upset her. Raven had always been that way—volatile—and things were already difficult for her. Coming home must have felt like defeat.

"I think we can all agree that killing is… unnecessary."

 _Wrong_ , his mind shrieked at him. _Killing is wrong._ But he didn't want Raven to think, just because he disagreed, that he sided against her. No, there were no sides.

"We have this information and with it we can be more vigilant. I'll do what I can to find out who's behind all of this, I think they will be the key to stopping it. Hank, there must be a limited number of people capable of designing these things, you'll look into it?"

Hank nodded.

"Good. Is everyone satisfied with that?"

He could see it in their faces: no one was satisfied with that. No one argued, though. They understood the dismissal and went on their way. Both Raven and Ruth hesitated, but when Ruth raised an eyebrow at her, Raven decided to move on with the guys.

Charles sighed. He should have known Ruth would wait, should have been grateful, he supposed, that she did not run her mouth in front of Raven.

When she closed the study door, however, he realized this was about something else.

Ruth stepped around to the opposite side of the desk. She did not wear perfume. He had noticed that about her some time ago, like he noticed now how quiet the study seemed, so quiet he heard the raindrops plinking on the roof and they were on the ground floor.

She tasted like cherry ChapStick when she kissed him. Smelled like soap and old sweat, but in a nice way—like herself. It wasn't what Charles was used to with women, but he liked it, the feeling that what she gave was herself. It was rather thrillingly intimate.

All the same, he pulled back before kissing turned into something more.

Usually, he did not mind something more. He liked something more. He needed to talk to her, though, and even though it would kill the mood, mentioning his sister after would seem… wronger.

"Wait. I need to ask you for something—a favor—be kind with Raven. It's been hard for her."

"I will not kill someone—"

"No, of course," Charles interrupted. "Of course not. I only want you to understand that this is an adjustment for her."

"Yes," Ruth agreed.

He sighed. "You look at her like she's some… monster."

"Monster? No. Threat, perhaps."

"Don't be petty."

He couldn't lose Raven again. He didn't know that he could bear it.

"I do not trust this woman. I will be… polite… but she is here with my children and she is lying to you. Do you read her mind?"

"Don't call her a liar."

"Do you read her mind?"

"I—she's my sister! No, I don't need to read her mind. She's a little lost, that's all."

"But you do not know this, Charles. She works with Erik; Erik is cold anger. Is catching. I will keep watch of her, nothing more."

He shook his head. "Don't do this, Ruth. Don't—you know nothing about Raven. You're jealous."

He knew the words hurt from her reaction, the way her body stiffened. She was upset—but all she knew was that he spent more time with Raven than with her. All she had to dislike Raven on…

"What?"

"You're upset that I spend more time with her than with you."

Ruth drew in a sharp gasp of air. She hesitated, then, "I love you, Charles Xavier. But do not for a second think that I need you."


	10. Do you ever think about bodies?

Warm water splashed down Scott's shirt. He ignored it. Washing dishes usually meant water sloshed down his front. It was, he once told Professor Xavier, all about averages. If, on average, every twenty dishes meant an accidental splash, it wouldn't have happened so much if he were only cleaning up after himself. But he was cleaning up after nine people, four of them teenagers—there were a lot of dishes. Splashes were inevitable.

Math worked that way, right?

Ruth had no such difficulty, since she was drying and putting away. She hummed to herself as she did. Only when Scott shut off the water and reached to dry his hands did she comment, "That shirt barely fits you."

Scott glanced down. "It fits." It sort of fit, anyway. It fit well enough to keep him from needing to shop. Ill-fitting clothes he had dealt with all his life, but shopping was a fresh torment.

"Does it."

"It does," Scott insisted, "really!"

Ruth smiled. "No," she said, "you are growing."

He didn't know what to say to that.

She picked up a sponge and went to wipe down workspaces and Scott grabbed the broom.

"Hey, Ruth? Is everything okay?"

She understood what he meant. Raven had been here for almost a week now and everyone felt the strain.

"It is fine."

"You can tell me the truth," Scott said.

"I am. Scott, you do not know something—you are a good boy. Good friend, good brother, good son, all of it, but you are useless at being a child."

A few months ago, he could have been stung by her words. Now he was used to Ruth and her frankness.

"Try something for me, yes? Trust me. When there is danger, I will tell you."

He had lived here for over a year now, long enough that it felt like home. He was a little shy when Ruth moved in and only needed a nudge from Alex to start talking to Ororo. Even when the other students fought—mostly Ororo and Laurie—Scott did not mind them. As he saw it, he had been here longest, so helping them get along was his responsibility.

Ruth gripped Scott's wrist gently. He realized he was biting his nails again.

"I'll—I'll try."

It was the most Scott could promise and Ruth seemed to know and accept that.

"But now I have to finish sweeping."

Ruth nodded. "Good night."

"'Night." Scott had been almost finished. He did an extra round, just to be sure. By now he had seen indisputably that the more mutants who landed here, the bigger the family became. So why was he so uncomfortable with Raven? He shook his head, tipped the dustpan into the trash, and put the broom away. Taking the trash out was the last job of the evening. Generally, even in the rain, Scott did not mind. He liked the quiet. Growing up in Omaha, he never heard quiet like this. There it was all traffic sounds and sirens and train whistles. The quiet here had crickets and rustling leaves.

Today he didn't want to. His ankle hurt. But it needed to be done.

"Hey—let me."

Scott turned. "Hey, Doug."

Doug held out his hand. "I'll take the trash."

Scott hesitated. "Why?"

"Cause your leg's messed up. Let me help."

Scott still hesitated. He liked Doug well enough, but in his experience, few actions were inspired by kindness.

"All right, I thought it might make you more receptive to conversation."

Scott handed the trash bag over. "I would have talked to you anyway, Doug. And my leg is fine."

"Dude. I can spot a lie."

"Yeah, spot this!" Scott shot back, glancing at the doorway to be sure no adults were around before flipping Doug the bird.

While Doug was gone, Scott pulled out graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmallows. Neither had a surprising metabolism for a teenage boy and both had a sweet tooth. When Doug returned, Scott handed him a s'more.

"Ah, are we out of those ice cream things?"

"You want ice cream? Now?"

The kitchen was warm but the evening was cold, rain tapping the windowpanes.

Doug gave him a look and Scott admitted, "I had the last one for breakfast."

They were not similar, really. Doug was cheery and easygoing while Scott was serious too often and couldn't make a move without thinking of the consequences. They were allies, though, sharing an appreciation of uncomplicated company.

They sat outside, close enough that the rain did not quite catch them.

"Do you like Raven?"

Trust on safety was one thing. Ruth would protect them. But this place was home and Raven's discord threatened that. No one read people like Doug; Scott wanted to know if she was genuinely struggling or playing them.

"Do you?" Doug returned.

Scott hesitated. 'Like' was a very strong word sometimes. "The Professor trusts her."

Doug nodded. "Mhm." He took a bite of his s'more, scattering crumbs. "Do you ever think about bodies?" he wondered.

Scott tried not to look guilty. Yes, he thought about bodies—but that wasn't the sort of thing one talked about, now, was it?

"Everything holds something together. Sinew holds bone, veins hold blood, skin keeps it all from overflowing. Everything serves to maintain corporeality. Hers shifts. Usually I perceive unspoken indicators, with a shapeshifter my perceptions may be… misguided."

"Mm," Scott replied, ostensibly because his mouth was full. He was also embarrassed. Here was Doug having these meaningful, albeit strange, thoughts, and Scott was thinking about Ingrid Bergman.

"She's lying! I can see it. She—she's upset when she's overlooked, but… because she thinks she ought to matter more. When she mentioned those metal things, she was hopeful. When Laurie started to cry…"

Scott hadn't liked seeing that, either. Laurie and he did not always get along, usually by extension. Just like Sean could tease him a little more due to his friendship with Alex, Ororo and Laurie often fought. Scott's friendship with Ororo was a wedge between him and Laurie—and that meant he hadn't been the right person to comfort her.

He should have been, though. When Laurie wasn't sure, she asked Scott. She trusted him.

"What about it?"

"Think how you would feel if it was Ororo."

"That's not fair. I care about Laurie. I need to know everything, Doug." Scott lowered his voice as he added, "I don't trust her either. She wouldn't say Professor Xavier's name. It was relevant and she wouldn't say it. That's weird."

Doug nodded. "When Laurie… it was all she could do not to laugh. You could talk to the Professor, he trusts you."

Scott shook his head. "No."

"Scott."

"No! Listen to me: I won't let anything happen." It felt strange for Scott to say that to someone older than him and twice his size, but he had so much conviction that Doug believed him. Besides, if this was bigger than Scott could handle, Ruth would. "All right? Not to you or Laurie or Ororo. But we can't go to Professor Xavier with this. He won't listen to me and it'll make things worse. We have to do what Ruth said and stick together. We'll look after each other. I think we can trust Ruth."

"We can," Doug confirmed.

"Do you think she's okay?"

"What, because of the sex?"

"Jesus Christ!" Scott swore. He looked around like someone might have overheard. Charles and Ruth were no big secret—Doug had been the first one to call it—but filthy banter was one thing. (Alex was Scott's big brother. He heard obscenities about as much as he heard "good morning".) Talking about reality was different.

"Oh—of course. I apologize. When did you start calling her 'mom'?"

"A while ago. Christmas break. Hey, you know Raven doesn't wear clothes?" Scott asked. "I'm not kidding!" off Doug's reaction. "She told Ororo, man. She said it's easier to just fake them."

"So she's… naked."

Scott nodded.

The boys chuckled. They were mutants and that asked too much of any young person, but they were still teenage boys. There was an attractive woman running around the place without real clothes on.

"The girls would slaughter us for having this conversation without them. About Raven, I mean—if we trust her."

Doug returned, "Only a conversation."

Scott nodded. "I guess."

"Oh, yeah."

"This Raven thing—the truth. Ruth?"

"Yeah," Doug said. "It taxes her."

Scott nodded. He thought about what he had heard a few nights ago. He had not meant to eavesdrop, truly. Then again, he had not exactly needed to speak to Professor Xavier, maybe not even meant to, but it was one thing to hear them fight.

It was another thing entirely to worry his own dislike of Raven might be what the Professor said. Pettiness. Jealousy.

Wanting to matter more than he deserved to.

Scott looked out at the red rain, knowing he couldn't talk about this, not even let it show. Not in this company. "What have you seen?"

Doug took a deep breath and blew it out.

"She doesn't trust Raven. She's looking at him differently, too. Are we safe?"

The crickets answered. Had they ever been safe? They were mutants. That meant being hunted. It meant being cut open and examined from the inside out…. Professor Xavier was the only person who ever stood between Scott and that pain. Without him, it was a difficult question to answer.

"Scott, are we safe?"

Doug wasn't like Scott. He grew up in a house with parents and neighbors and friends, with a warm bed at night and enough food to eat. He didn't know that mutants are never really safe.

Scott couldn't lie to him. Instead, he promised:

"We're strong."


	11. Ororo Investigates

That morning, Charles suggested canceling classes. He said it like the most normal thing in the world, like this was something a rational person would announce over pancakes.

Ororo, Doug, and Laurie traded glances. Canceled classes? Again?

Ororo disliked the idea. She needed her classes. The idea of school was still just a few months old. She had been a thief and a beggar and a goddess; being a student was new and sometimes hard. Weekends were nice, but she needed to work consistently or she started to backslide. She felt herself understanding less each day.

Scott wasn't enough. The boy in question had his head bowed over his breakfast. He was not going to speak up—Ororo could have guessed—but he would always help her with her reading. He was a fine tutor, but she needed a teacher.

She raised her hand. It was the breakfast table, but it felt a lot like class.

"It's hard to keep up when we miss class," she said.

"Well, it won't be for long," Charles reasoned. The way he smiled made her want to throw sand in his face. "Just a holiday."

"You said last week was a holiday," Ororo retorted.

Alex pushed his chair back from the table. "Gotta run," he announced. He started taking his plate into the kitchen, then paused to ruffle Scott's hair. Given how hard Scott tried to avoid this, it was almost an aggressive gesture.

"Good pancakes, twerp."

"Homework done, jerk?" Scott retorted under his breath.

Alex moved to smack the back of Scott's head but a sharp, "Alexander!" from Ruth changed his mind. "Charles," she added, "a word please?"

Given the look on Ruth's face like she might snap the table in two, Charles nodded. Both left the room, retreating to the kitchen for a private conversation.

Ororo had a skill for being unheard.

In Cairo, she made a living from it. As a thief she had needed to approach others without being noticed and she managed that in part through ordinariness, hiding her distinctive white hair under a hijab. She also managed it by not being suspicious.

She waited a few moments, took another bite of pancake and chewed, swallowed… then slipped from her chair.

Scott grabbed her wrist. He shook his head.

She gave him a rude look.

He mouthed, 'Don't.'

Ororo scowled. Nobody told her what to do, not without her agreeing to it and she did not agree to this. She leaned close to Scott.

"Charles may not know you got hurt, but I do."

The threat was implicit but clear enough: he could let up or she would tell. He let up.

At the kitchen door, Ororo heard as Ruth argued, "…best interests, you are acting on your own. You cannot cancel school all the time!"

"It isn't all the time. It's a few days, for my sister."

"You have had a few days," Ruth replied. "We have four students only. You do not teach all day. They need you too."

"Oh, they need me?"

"Do not—you are better than that." Somehow, Ruth managed to keep her voice low. It all but seethed with emotion. "You have an obligation to those children and to their parents. If you cannot fulfill it, give your classes to Hank."

Charles paused and Ororo, at the doorway, raised her eyebrows. Ruth had taken this a step beyond accusation, but was she actually asking Charles to step down? Ororo knew he wanted to. Perhaps not in general, but the past few days he had been almost inattentive whenever the students were present—he had someplace he would rather be.

"What do you want from me?"

"To stop canceling classes because you want to do something else—to understand your obligations to another person, other people. I want you to be a man, because these are the actions of a child. If you cannot bear to lose only a few hours a day to do your job—"

"All right, enough," Charles interrupted. "Enough, Ruth. You've made your point and you're right, but Raven is important to me. She needs me right now. And the children like having breaks from classes!"

Ruth sighed audibly. "I will speak to Hank," she said. "My classes will continue, perhaps his also."

After a silence, Ororo heard footsteps and bolted back the table. She hopped into her chair and picked up a pancake, ignoring the fork. She did not really like forks. They were unnecessary and illogical—why did people voluntarily jam sharp things into their mouths?

"Well?" Doug asked.

"I think Hank just had a promotion."

* * *

 

Something just seemed wrong with Raven. She was aloof, but that wasn't it. Laurie was aloof and Ororo trusted her. Didn't like her, but trusted her.

Maybe it was the way Raven kept herself isolated.

Maybe it was the fact that Ororo overheard Raven speaking softly one night, after everyone was asleep. Ororo had gone for a drink of water—not because she was thirsty, just because she couldn't sleep and needed to move around. She didn't overhear the conversation, just knew it was secret and private.

It could have been anything, but something seemed off. And she wasn't one to sit idly by.

Ororo knew how to be invisible. In her hijab, she had been one of dozens if not hundreds of street kids in Cairo.

But even an ordinary street kid caused distrust. She needed to move on silent feet—which was near impossible when those feet were sheathed in canvas and rubber, so she left her sneakers in her bedroom. (Sneakers! Hah! Like they were any good for sneaking!)

She was not sure what she hoped to find in Raven's room.

Not that these things mattered to Ororo, but the decor was awful. Who thought plaid made nice wallpaper? And why did a bedroom need a fireplace? Sure, New York could be cold, but that's what those thick blankets were for.

She only noticed this for a moment.

Raven did not have many things. In fact, as far as Ororo could tell, she had only one bag with her. It was sort of a suitcase, dull brown with leather handles, sitting on a trunk at the foot of her bed. It was not unpacked.

Ororo looked around the room.

She opened the closet door carefully, ready to stop at a squeal, but the hinges were oiled. It didn't matter, anyway, since the closet held only bare hangers.

The trunk at the foot of the bed had a thin layer of dust on it. A couple of chairs were covered in cloths like other unused furniture in the mansion.

"Who are you?" Ororo murmured.

Raven had not moved in. She had not even unpacked. Charles seemed to think she was here for good; Raven clearly had other plans.

Ororo frowned. Everything had changed since Raven arrived and while Ororo was less than bothered—things changed, that was life—she wanted to know what this woman planned. A woman who could be anything, look any way, Ororo almost envied that, but she did not trust Raven.

Since Raven's arrival, Charles had separated from the others. He wasn't interested in the school anymore. Ororo accepted change, but if she was going to lose this place, she wanted to know why. Even better, she wanted to figure out Raven's plan and put a stop to it.

She unzipped Raven's suitcase.

Respect for other people's things was not a common trait in thieves. Ororo had not stolen in years, not since she stole rain in the desert, but she had no problem disregarding privacy concerns.

Raven's suitcase was full of clothes. They were neatly folded, carefully packed, and completely untouched.

"Liar," Ororo murmured.

Raven arrived like she was in a hurry; she wasn't. She said she needed a place to stay; she wasn't staying.

Who was this person? And what did she want?

Footsteps in the hallway interrupted Ororo's thoughts. She swore silently in Arabic, zipped up the suitcase, and glanced around. Where would she hide? There was the chimney, the closet, and under the bed.

Ororo scrambled under the bed with the dust. It left her more exposed than the closet, but let her watch as Raven's blue, scaly legs walked into the room.

Raven glanced back into the hallway, then closed the door behind her and farted.

Ororo pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle giggles. She wasn't laughing at the act itself (she wasn't Alex!), but because even someone as aloof and superior as Raven did necessary biological things.

"Ugh," Raven sighed, "this was supposed to be over by now!"

Then she flopped onto the bed. It didn't sag—it was too well-made for that—but at this point Raven would surely notice if Ororo tried for the door. A horrible thought occurred: was she stuck here until Raven fell asleep?

Ororo did not even want to move too much, in case Raven heard, but after a while her arms and knees began to ache. Raven continued to toss and turn—why was she going to sleep now anyway?—until, finally, she stayed still for so long Ororo began to think about edging out.

Then she began to wriggle out from beneath the bed.

"Raven?"

Raven's feet dropped to the floor. Ororo yanked her hand back just in time.

"Charles," Raven said, opening the door. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, I only wanted to see how you were."

"I'm fine. I was just resting for a while."

"Oh. I thought you might like to sit with me for a while. Going outside can be challenging in this weather, but I've taken to using the solarium."

Ororo stored the word 'solarium' to ask about later.

Raven considered the offer, unaware of the girl under her bed willing her to take it. If Raven would just leave, even for five minutes…

"All right."

 _Blessed be thy name!_ Ororo thought. She had never bought into any religion. At the moment, she could almost have faith if it meant Raven leaving the room.

It felt like an eternity, but Ororo managed to count to one hundred before scrambling out from beneath the bed.


	12. I will not

That Friday brought an uncommonly warm, dry day, like the rain and wet and cold had been canceled because sometimes kids just need to play. Alex came in through the garage, but he saw Ororo, Doug, Hank, and Ruth kicking around a soccer ball on the lawn. Laurie, never one for sports or joining in, sat to the side, enjoying the sunshine.

Alex pulled into the garage, parked his car, and sighed. His school things lay on the seat beside him: math textbook, notebook, graph paper notebook. He found that he did not so much mind school. As a teenager, he had been a terrible student, but these days things made more sense. Or at least, he no longer cared that he was never likely to need algebra.

The past week, he liked school and work more than ever, because things were getting weirder and weirder at Charles's place. Alex had always felt welcome there—Charles never seemed to mind and crashing with one's friends feels different when the friend in question owns a mansion. Besides, he knew Raven, so having her here was less strange than having his older-younger brother.

But he sensed tensions. He felt them, like he had as a kid. Made him sleep badly, made him itch in places he couldn't scratch.

 _In public_ , Alex thought, which wasn't at all what he meant but made him laugh.

He scooped his school stuff into his backpack (respectably tattered) and climbed out of the car. With almost everyone outside, the mansion felt quiet, not tense—at least until Alex turned a corner and saw Sean.

"Hey."

Sean had no business there, not loitering. He was waiting for Alex.

"Hey," he echoed, then jerked his head.

Alex raised his eyebrows. He didn't go down that hallway just about ever.

He had little to do with the school. He wasn't exactly qualified to tutor his little brother or the others and he saw no reason to sit in on their classes. He did join them for krav maga, but that was either outdoors or in the bomb shelter.

Sean nodded— _yeah, I mean it_ —and shrugged.

Alex dropped his backpack, because whatever this was, he didn't need to haul his algebra book to it. Then again, he could have guessed.

He suppressed a sigh when he found Scott sitting at one of the desks in Ruth's classroom. Yeah, that would be about right. All the other kids were outside enjoying the sunshine. Scott would be the one to sit inside working on an essay.

Alex made his way into the room. The words on the page came into focus, identical lines—ouch.

Alex dropped into the seat next to him. "'Cha up to, twerp?"

Scott didn't look up. "I'm busy."

Alex nodded. He leaned closer, obnoxiously close. _I will not solve problems using violence._

"Wow. Using violence? You the same Scotty Summers I knew this morning?"

Scott didn't reply.

Alex reached over, grabbed a curl of hair at the back of Scott's head, and yanked.

"Ow!"

Well, Alex wanted a response and he got one. Scott glowered at him.

"What do you want, jerk?"

"What happened?" Alex asked, indicating the paper.

"Nothing. I was bad. Don't worry about it, okay?"

Scott went back to writing his standards. _…blems using violence. I will not solve my problems using violence. I will not—_

Alex grabbed the page.

"Hey!"

Scott tried to hang on to his paper and Alex kept tugging, ripping it in two. To Alex it was nothing, but Scott looked utterly stricken. He stared for a moment, then slammed his pen down and went to retrieve another sheet of paper.

He sat down again and started over.

"Stop it," Alex said. This was not what he wanted to deal with on a Friday afternoon. He was finished—until his shift tomorrow, anyway—and wanted to light up and find something decent on the radio. Dylan was perfect. The lyrics made sense for once. He liked the Beatles well enough when he was sober, but stoned he needed something slower. Lucky Sean caught him when he did. Alex really couldn't handle Scott buzzed.

"Alex—"

"Hey," Alex interrupted, "that's healing up okay." He had noticed the scabs on Scott's face, the ones he brought home along with a twisted ankle that everyone was apparently supposed to ignore. "How's the leg?"

"It's fine!"

Ooh, Alex hadn't been the first to ask about that, had he?

"I'm working a half-shift tomorrow, how about a ride to the library?" Alex offered.

Scott's hand froze halfway through 'violence'.

"Scott. What the hell happened?"

He sighed. "Look, it was my decision, okay? But things are… things aren't the same, and sometimes when Laurie gets upset—"

"Then it's Laurie's fault," Alex said. "What's Charles punishing you for?"

"It isn't—because Laurie made us all feel upset. Ororo can't deal with it as well as we can. She's young and she's still having a hard time. Laurie's frustration builds on what's already there. She can't help it, Alex."

Alex nodded. "You don't have to convince me," he agreed. He might not have known much about Ororo's emotions—he liked her well enough, but he was a guy!—but he agreed with Scott on principle.

Scott shrugged. By now his pen had bled a spot onto the page. He crumpled it, went the hurl it in the bin, and grabbed a third sheet of paper.

"Scott, what happened?" Alex prodded.

"I hit Laurie in the face, okay?" Scott snapped.

Well, that was… unexpected. When did this story jump from Ororo's anger to Scott's?

Scott sighed and the words came out in a rush: "I saw what was happening and both the girls would be in trouble, or I would, and it's not Laurie's fault or Ororo's, they can't help what's going on. So I stopped it. I couldn't see a better way. I know it's not okay to hit girls and I'm sorry I hit her. It just seemed, well. I get punished. It's better."

"Laurie okay?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah, she's okay."

"Good. I'll take care of this," indicating the torn page of standards, "just go play with your friends."

"No—I knew what I was doing. You don't have to look after me."

"Do you want to come to my room and smoke?"

"What! No!"

Alex had a deal with Charles that he did as he liked in his own room. It didn't affect his school or work performance; he kept sober during missions. He wasn't hurting anyone. But Charles did not actually approve and so Alex agreed not to "use substances", as Charles phrased it, elsewhere in the house.

He never made any promises about who he would bring to his room.

"Look, Alex, I knew what I was doing, okay? I knew it was wrong, I just couldn't think of a better solution. I accept responsibility for that."

"Let me make sure I'm understanding—Laurie was making everyone around her frustrated."

"Yes."

"Including you."

"Well—I felt it, but—"

"And Ororo was losing her temper, so you hit Laurie."

"I could've done something else—taken Ororo out of the room," Scott reasoned, like Ororo would have allowed that, "or helped Laurie control it. I didn't have to hit her. I'm responsible for my actions, Alex, no one else."

Alex thought about that for a moment. He could hear Charles's voice through the words, Charles on about good choices and responsibility.

"What was Laurie frustrated about, anyway?"

Scott sighed.

"Oh."

Of course. All the tension had one common source: Raven. Or Charles, anyway. Even Alex could see that Raven was manipulating him, presumably out of insecurity, and Charles was not coping overly well. Alex wasn't one to judge. He just noticed.

"Scotty—"

"Don't call me Scotty."

"Scotty, anyone ever tell you that life isn't fair?"

"Yes, but—"

Alex grabbed Scott's pen. It was a pointless gesture since he knew Scott had a whole pack of them in his room, but more an active metaphor. "Today it's unfair in your favor. Go play outside."

"I don't want to—"

"Then go read in your room," Alex retorted. "But no standards. You know me, twerp, you're not doin' this if I say you're not."

Scott thought about that for a moment, then asked, "Why do you and Ruth both act like I need protecting?" As an afterthought, "Jerk."

"I dunno," Alex lied. He knew perfectly well. "Why do you put yourself in situations where you do?"

Alex suspected Scott had rolled his eyes. "It's just doing standards."

"It's not the standards. You know it's not, Scott. You know this is Charles coming down on you because he's pissed and guilty and Ruth's giving him blue balls." Alex only tossed the last one in because he knew it would make Scott uncomfortable. "So he makes an example out of you. 'Everyone else will enjoy the afternoon while Scott sits inside, alone.' I've been the bad kid, little brother, and trust me, it doesn't pay off."

Scott shook his head. "It's not like that. I just wanted to… they don't know what I'm doing. They think I'm reading _The Count of Monte Cristo_."

Right. That was something Scott would do voluntarily. Alex looked for a long time at Scott, like he might see something to explain this. He had known for a long time that Scott was damaged. The kid used to wake everyone else screaming from nightmares and Alex had seen the scars on his body. This was a new kind of wrong.

Alex's conclusions had been wrong. This wasn't Charles punishing Scott, this was Scott punishing himself.

This place was getting too weird.

"I love you, jackass."


	13. In Case of Emergency

"Shotgun!" Scott called.

"What?" Ororo asked

"He wants the front seat," Alex translated.

"Oh. Shotgun!" Ororo echoed.

"Sorry, gnat—the twerp called it first," Alex said. "You both understand, no ride home until 1:30?"

Scott and Ororo nodded. Scott had been worried about leaving Ororo on her own. He needn't have been. As soon as she heard about the library trip, she invited herself.

The three of them piled into Alex's car. Scott glanced into the backseat and Ororo smirked at him as she buckled her seatbelt. She knew how to do that for herself now.

As they pulled onto the main road, Scott asked, "How was your exam?"

"Shut up," Alex retorted.

"I know it was yesterday."

Alex glanced at him, then back to the road. "First of all, don't go through my stuff—"

"Like your stash is any secret."

"Second," Alex continued, raising his voice, "unless you want to talk about your grades, butt out."

"Well, I had an A on my last composition, so."

"Yeah, composition, how's your math grade?"

"Uh, steady."

"Steady?"

"Passing."

"Passing dry or passing just-barely?"

"C is passing."

"C is passing," Alex repeated.

"So?"

"So what?"

"So how was your exam?"

"Better than yours."

"Good. You're supposed to be the smart one, anyway," Scott retorted.

The exchange had cut both of them. They nursed their wounds in silence. Ororo, in the backseat, found herself wishing she had a brother and missing her best friend from before, an ocean away now. There were many things about her life in Africa she did not miss—the hunger, the fear, the uncertainty about even a potential future—but she had noticed that people seemed so distant from one another here in America. Except siblings, that is.

She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over the front seat to turn on the radio. Elvis poured into the car, so strangely upbeat.

As Alex drove past the drug store where he worked, Scott told him, "We can walk."

"It's, what, two blocks?"

"Exactly."

Scott opened his mouth. Ororo leaned forward to punch him on the shoulder. Sometimes he really didn't know when to shut up and stay that way.

They tumbled out of the car in front of the library. Ororo had never been there. She knew Scott went every week, rain or shine or pelting snow, but had never been invited to accompany him—or felt a need to ask. Reading was okay as a means to an end, but she did not actually enjoy it.

The building had a few people in it. Most were older—not older like the Professor, older like the color fled their hair a long time ago. Yeah, Ororo thought, this was exactly the kind of place Scott would feel at home.

"C'mon," he said. "I'll show you around."

The tour of a small building took all of ten minutes as Scott babbled about things called the Dewey Decimal System and card catalogues and checkout limits. Ororo's English was good, but her exposure to new situations had been limited. She lived in the orphanage and then at the school, and she had been out a few times, but there wasn't much appeal. She wasn't sure she really liked the United States.

The tour concluded at the circulation desk, where Scott greeted the oldest or near-oldest person in the room, "Hi, Mae."

She smiled warmly at him. "Hi, Scott. Who's your friend?"

"This is Ororo. Ororo, this is Mae, she's the librarian."

"Hi," Ororo said.

"Can we get her a library card?"

"Of course!" Mae produced a pen and a request form from behind her desk and slid both toward Ororo. "Go ahead and fill this out."

Ororo peered at the form, her finger underlining the words as she read. There were too many she didn't understand. What were 'patrons' and why were the 'terms of service' so complicated? She guessed from the context what 'surname' meant—although she supposed, logically, she was a Munroe before her parents picked the name Ororo. So wasn't Munroe her first name? For that matter, what was the school's address?

She shook her head. "I wouldn't want one so much, anyway."

She pushed the paper back toward Mae, but Scott whisked it off the desk. "That's okay." He folded the paper and slid it into his pocket. "We'll fill it in at home. Can we share a card today?"

"Your friend can't use your card," Mae replied.

"Oh…"

"But," the librarian continued, "I won't be asking why you check out each book. I wouldn't know if it was for someone else."

Scott grinned. "Thanks, Mae."

Ororo didn't really care about the books, but how could she say that? Scott seemed happier talking about them than he did, well, ever. He offered opinions and spoke with enthusiasm until she almost doubted this was the same boy. She had seen him annoyed, hurt, angry, and with that quiet happy she thought was his peak emotion.

This was new, so she picked one of the books for Scott to check out.

He chatted with Mae like an old friend as she stamped cards inside Ororo's book and the three Scott had chosen for himself. The two of them lingered for a while outside the library, sitting on the brick steps. They had some time before Alex's shift ended.

"Why are you different here?" Ororo asked.

"I'm not different," Scott protested, handing her the book she'd chosen.

She took it. "Yes you are."

"I'm not," he insisted. "Am I?"

"You know how Laurie can make us all respond to how she feels?"

The hesitation told her that he wanted to point out how this was subtly inaccurate. Instead he nodded. Laurie could make them feel what she felt, not respond to it.

"You do, too."

Scott gave her a strange look. "No, I don't. I—" he glanced around, then murmured, "you know what I do. C'mon, we don't need to hang around here."

Ororo stuck out her tongue at Scott's back, but his ankle was still sore. She had no problem catching up to him.

"Can we get ice cream?"

"You want ice cream?" Scott shot back. "It's gotta be sixty degrees!"

"But… ice cream," Ororo reasoned. "Can you honestly tell me you don't have five dollars in your pocket?"

The look on his face said he could not.

"I carry money in case of emergency."

"This is an emergency. I need ice cream."

"You are turning so American, you know that?"

There was a remark that required response!

Ororo was too busy bickering to notice, but Scott saw the van parked at the corner. His attention shifted between Ororo and the van. He wanted to suggest they cross to the other side of the road, but didn't want to worry Ororo, who barely left the school.

When Hank first devised the ruby quartz visor that allowed Scott to have some control over his ability, Scott thought it was stupid. Now he always had it with him. Unfortunately it was in his bag.

He gripped the edge of his glasses, just in case.

He wasn't sure what it was that made him so suspicious about a van. Just, for some reason, it worried him—but they managed to pass by without incident. Scott's senses seemed to sharpen at a trickle of adrenaline at the maybe-threat, but he and Ororo walked by unharmed. She did not even stop explaining to him why she was African—not American.

Scott sighed and dropped his hand.

The van's panel door slid open and strong hands closed around Scott's arms, yanking him back. He slammed his head back the way Ruth had taught him, felt rather than heard a crunch—though he heard the yelp that accompanied it. That wasn't enough to keep him from being tossed onto an uneven metal floor.

He tried to get up, but a knee on his back kept him down. That didn't stop Scott struggling. It just stopped his struggle meaning anything.

The van smelled strange, a little like metal but something else, too, something vaguely familiar. Scott couldn't think what it was before the air took on a burnt, post-lightning smell.

"Don't," he said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

Whoever was pinning him down slammed his head against the floor.

"Ororo—metal," Scott managed. He didn't have a lot of air, and most of it seemed to be going to his brain, to thoughts of, somehow, getting out of here.

From the sounds nearby, Ororo was giving them a run for their money, but she was losing.

Scott considered. He heard where his friend was—to his right—which wasn't easy over the sounds of wind buffeting the van. Then what sounded like rain, only louder—hail?

Scott raked his face against the uneven floor, knocking his glasses off, then turned to what he hoped was the back of the van and opened his eyes. The force was enough that the person pinning him down fell back as glass and metal shrieked. Hail clattered on the van floor. A stone caught Scott like a right hook.

"Ororo!"

She grabbed his hand and they scrambled out of the van. Scott kept his eyes shut as they ran. It felt like miles, but he knew it wasn't. Eventually Ororo pulled him into an alley. Sirens wailed past.

"Here."

She pressed something into his hand—his glasses! Scott slid them on and nodded, too winded to speak.

Ororo returned the nod.

Now that the police had passed, Ororo and Scott left the alley and broke into a run.

Some people go to the police for safety. Some go home. Ororo and Scott took the closest thing they could find: the drug store. A cheerful bell above the door welcomed them. A few patrons turned to see what the commotion was.

"Kids?"

Alex made his way over.

"I told you, I'm not off until—oh, shit." He took a good look at them and realized something had happened. "You okay?"

Ororo couldn't answer.

Scott started to nod, then shook his head.

Alex took them both back to the employee area. He talked with his boss about leaving early to take Ororo and Scott home.

He was ready to ask what had happened, but it was Scott who opened his mouth once they were in the car, away from any chance of being overheard. "Alex," he said, "do you trust Raven?"

Alex drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I dunno," he admitted. He thought for a moment about Raven, the time he had known her, the choices she had made. Finally, he decided, "Not with you."


	14. Trust

Charles rolled down the hall, feeling—what else could he call it?—lonely.

He missed closeness and companionship with Ruth. She never asked for a reason; he could simply want to be with her and that was enough. But she was still stung by what he said and, in truth, he felt the same.

_Do not for one second think that I need you._

Was that so wrong, so demeaning, to need someone? He certainly did. He needed her. Catch him admitting it, though.

"Raven?"

She turned at the sound of his voice. She stood in the hallway, blue, the telephone at her ear. "Charles."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were—"

"I was just saying goodbye," Raven interrupted, and returned the phone to its cradle.

She regarded him and he looked for something in her eyes, something to show she knew what her presence cost him. Charles wanted his sister here, but Raven had a way of setting the others on edge. He couldn't risk losing her again though. The first time nearly broke him.

Even Scott barely talked to Charles anymore, but he of all people should understand. He had been alone, helpless, like Raven was now. Why was that so difficult for Scott to see? Charles couldn't understand it. He saw Scott looking after Ororo, Laurie, even Doug in a way. Why couldn't he do that for Raven?

"I thought we might have a game of checkers," Charles suggested. He had moved on to chess a long time ago, but Raven didn't have the patience. Charles didn't really want to play checkers. He wanted to spend time with Raven.

"Sure."

She didn't exactly sound enthusiastic, but not reluctant, either.

They played a couple of games. Charles tried to make conversation and he knew Raven tried to respond, but their hearts weren't in it.

So the morning was quiet, overall. The day was dry again and Charles heard the sounds of Sean, Doug, Hank, and Ruth playing ball outside. He kept the windows shut and tried to ignore the noise. He tried not to remember that a few weeks ago he would have just been… happy for them.

Charles poured himself a drink and settled in for a long sulk.

It was only interrupted by a shout of his name.

He shook his head. "No, I'm not interested," he murmured.

"Charles!" Alex shouted again, more sharply. Charles did not appreciate the tone.

When he heard footsteps in the hall, he realized he could not avoid this. He supposed he might telepathically slip the idea into Alex's head that he wasn't there, but sooner or later, he would need to address this, whatever it was.

He sighed, resigned.

His attitude changed when he saw Alex in the doorway, Ororo and Scott beside him. A bloodied scrap of cloth was tied around Ororo's forearm. Scott had bruises blooming on his face.

"Alex?" Charles asked. "What's happened?"

Alex shook his head. They hadn't told him.

"Can you call Ruth and Hank?" Scott requested. "This might be, um, an X-Men thing, I thought it would be better to talk to everyone at once."

Scott was a terrible liar. Rather than look for more information, Charles nodded. "All right." He focused and sent the thought to Ruth, Hank, and Sean. He thought for a moment on what to say, then, 'X-Men to my study, we have a situation.'

When they had all piled into the room, Ororo and Scott took turns telling the story. They didn't know much. A group of people neither of them saw very well tried pulling them into a van—

"Did," Ororo corrected. "Him first."

Scott turned to her. "Is that important?"

She shrugged. "They took you first."

All told, the story was short, but Scott and Ororo threw in every detail they remembered. The best Ororo knew was that someone who grabbed her had too-sharp nails that tore her arm when she got away. Although Scott had a decent look at the van itself, there was nothing distinctive about it. He realized now why it seemed out of place: there hadn't been a license plate.

"The van smelled like… bad eggs," he said. "Not exactly, but like that."

"That and paint," Ororo added.

As for how they escaped, she seemed nothing shy of proud of her hailstones. He was more embarrassed about his lack of control.

Once the story was finished, a tense silence filled the room. Ororo noticed Ruth, how tightly she gripped the arms of her chair. She had seen Ruth annoyed and she had seen Ruth angry, but this was something different. Neither of them spoke.

It was Hank who broke the silence, talking to no one in particular and staring at the chess board. "Sharp nails and sulfur," he murmured. "That sounds like Azazel and if Azazel was involved, it's likely the other Brotherhood members were, too. This wasn't random."

"Professor," Scott said, "I think Raven—"

"Don't," Charles interrupted.

Scott set his jaw with more defiance than Charles had ever seen in him. Oh, Scott broke rules now and again. He swore and threw things and punched walls; once he left, despite being grounded. That was a little boy sneaking out to read _Of Mice and Men_. This was… different.

"I believe Raven played a part in this," Scott said, his voice tightly wound and too calm. "These are her friends, her allies, who knew where we would be."

Charles didn't know that he could hide the disappointment he felt, hearing that. Raven came here for a fresh start. He expected better of his students.

He shook his head. "No."

"Then how did they know?" Scott insisted.

"For pity's sake, Scott, they have a telepath. Emma might have—"

"Been reading our minds nonstop?" Alex asked.

Of course he would come to his brother's defense.

"Precisely what are you asking me to do?" Charles asked. "Tell her to leave?" It was unthinkable and his tone conveyed that. This was Raven's home!

"Read her mind," Scott said. He gave Alex a significant look—a 'shut up' look.

Charles shook his head. "I won't do that to her, I won't tell her that I don't trust her because I do trust her. She needs me to trust her."

"You read my mind all the time," Scott replied.

"You're not Raven."

 _Clearly_ , Scott thought, so loudly he might have been a telepath himself.

"She said this," Ruth realized. The others turned to her, surprised she would interfere in what felt like a private conversation—even to those on the outside. "When Raven arrived, she warned us this might happen."

Charles felt himself relax. Someone was taking his side.

"Or threatened," Sean said.

"That's a good point," Scott agreed. "This didn't happen until she realized things weren't going her way—no one's asking you to make her leave, Professor, or even accuse her. Not outright. We just want to know that we can trust her."

"Do you trust me?" Charles reasoned.

"Should I?"

That question sucked the air from the room. For a moment, Charles couldn't think of a thing to say. Then, "Watch your mouth."

It wasn't nearly as powerful as he would have hoped.

Was he losing an argument with a fifteen-year-old?

No, he realized, Scott was uncomfortable. Beyond uncomfortable. His face had gone pink and his nails dug into his palms as he fought the urge to bite them.

But he was angry, and that was what he let control him.

"What if she doesn't know what she knows?" Ororo asked. "Maybe she saw or heard something without realizing it mattered."

"She may have," Charles allowed, "but—"

"Maybe she's just a liar. Professor, are you really—after what happened to me and Ororo? What could've happened? You won't even ask her a question when she knew this was going to happen!"

"Scott, you're upset." Charles said this as much in observation as warning. Scott was upset—and saying things he would regret because of it.

"Can you honestly tell me you're not considering going after those stupid robots again, just like she said?" Scott asked.

"We don't know that those things are related."

"Actually…" Hank began. He cleared his throat, looking almost as uncomfortable as he had when Charles announced his mutant status to his previous employer. "It doesn't prove anything, but there is a strong link suggested." He nodded at the cloth tied around Ororo's arm. "Where did you get that?"

"From one of them," Ororo said. "The same one who cut me."

The others noticed now: a familiar insignia, even stained with blood. They had seen it the night last fall when they destroyed a fleet of mutant-hunting metal men. There was no question of a connection between those robots and whoever tried to snatch the children.

Charles sighed. This was the last thing he wanted. Any danger to the children was the last thing he wanted, but this… he had so believed it was over.

"I think defensive action may now be called for," he murmured. He looked around, to a chorus of nods and positive answers. "Right. Scott, Ororo, your part in this is over. I'm going to bring Raven in—"

Scott couldn't stop himself: "What?"

Evenly, with a warning tone, Charles replied, "She knows the most about this."

"Because she arranged it," Scott returned. "She's behind it and you won't even… you can see it but you won't look!"

"If you knew her, you wouldn't question her loyalty."

"Her loyalty?" Scott spat.

"Scotty," Alex said, "take a walk."

"Her loyalty," Scott repeated. "She left you! Why do you trust her, what does she have to do to make you question her?"

"Scott Matthew—"

Normally, Scott's middle name made him shut down. Today he was too agitated.

"Are you really that miserable? You're the strongest person I've ever met and she turns you into a simpering, pathetic—"

"I'm not having this conversation right now," Charles said. He was running out of warnings.

"Did I misunderstand, or did she leave you for the man who crippled you?"

"Scott," Alex murmured, but Scott wouldn't stop now, even for him.

Charles raised his voice: "You're a child, you don't know what you're talking about!"

"No, I know exactly what I'm talking about and you know it!" Scott knew better, but he all but shouted, too. "She betrayed you once for that asshole, she'll do it again—"

"Go to your room."

Charles had raised his voice before, but this was a new level of petulance from Scott and a new level of volume from Charles.

"This is not a conversation I'll be having with you—and if you want to speak with anyone in this house, you'll do so after contemplating your attitude and behavior."

Scott's head tilted just slightly, but it was enough for Charles.

"Don't ask Ruth. Go to your room and stay there until you can control yourself. I can't look at you right now."

There was a pause then. Charles knew the boy would be either angry or hurt. He could not allow himself to care which. Nobody else said a word. Then Scott left. He didn't slam the door—hurt, then, not angry.

It had been his own fault.

"I'm not taking a side," Ororo said, "but I think I should go now, too."

Ruth said something in Arabic, something longer than 'yes'. Charles did not understand what Ruth and Ororo said to one another and for a moment he was sorely tempted to read Ororo's mind. Ruth's thoughts reflected her primary language which, despite years in the United States, was Hebrew. Ororo's thoughts, however, reflected her increasing preference for English.

Of course, they wanted privacy. It was a pinch and spying, as Charles wanted to, was wrong. Yet he found himself considering it.

This was a child, a confused child not sure what to do, and spying on her would be very wrong, but this had all gone on long enough. So he did. Charles dipped into Ororo's mind:

" _…tonight, later? Please?_ "

" _Yes, my dear, of course we can talk about it, but now you need to go._ " In English, she continued, "I think Doug and Laurie are outside. Charles?"

"Hm? Oh!" Charles realized he had been meant to understand that and searched them out telepathically. "Laurie's painting her nails and Doug's making peanut butter Oreos. Go now, please."

Either Ororo heard the brittleness in his voice or she had simply had enough, but she left.

Charles sent a message to Raven telepathically. She hated having her mind read, but even she could not deny that this was the simplest way to communicate at a distance. Had he read the others' minds, he would have seen doubt, fear. None of them trusted Raven, but they worried about saying so in front of Charles.

Ruth simply thought arguing was pointless—a battle she couldn't win.

Alex thought it was a good way to be excluded from the inevitable mission. He didn't want his friends to go without him, a man down out of… what? Stubbornness? It wasn't like Charles would listen.

Sean didn't know what to say.

Hank was torn, not trusting Raven fully but still loyal to her and not convinced she was more than hurt. Besides, he had only observations, no conclusions and no facts.

That, more than anything else, scared Hank.

  



	15. Responsibilities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't fully understand how punch-card programming worked. While I've tried, I just can't wrap my head around it. Hopefully nothing on the subject will be too inaccurate.

"Charles, I tried to warn you."

"I know that, Raven. I know you did."

"You should have listened to me."

"Raven—"

"This is what you always do, you ignore everything I have to say—"

Ruth cleared her throat. Charles and Raven both turned to her, neither looking particularly appreciative of the interruption. His feathers were ruffled from the argument with Scott only a few minutes ago. When they became close, Charles and Ruth, she understood that he needed respect more than help. Sometimes he needed help, too, but he did not need rescuing.

She couldn't seem to recall that at the moment. Raven had seen a vulnerability and gone after it.

Now Ruth said, "This is not a productive discussion. Someone is hunting us. We address this first." Charles and Raven had not waited, but launched into their personal discussion with the others present. Sean, Alex, and Hank looked beyond uncomfortable about that. As for Ruth, she did not mind. "You wanted someone to listen to you, Raven. We are listening now."

"Now is too late," Raven retorted and Ruth thought she sounded as bratty as Scott. No—worse. Scott was frustrated and angry. Raven was entitled. "We could have stopped this when they transferred the plans. Now we can either destroy the lab or kill the scientist, that's it."

Charles sighed. "I can't see a productive outcome from either avenue."

Raven leaned forward, more engaged as she said, "If we can make them understand that we will never allow those things to be built."

"We're not tyrants, Raven."

"We're stronger," she stressed.

"We can be, but that doesn't give us the right. Our powers are not toys; they're responsibilities."

She sighed. "So you've always said."

"I have lived in war," Ruth said.

"Did I ask you?" Raven asked.

"Children do not ask," Ruth shot back, "but I have lived in war and I have seen what it does to people. To children. These are his ideas, Erik's, but no one in this house will follow you to war."

She left an unspoken, "I won't allow it," hanging in the air. The lads would follow Charles, but Charles had ceded leadership. He hadn't ceded it to Ruth, but she took it, anyway.

Alex raised his hand. "Uh, can I?"

Ruth and Charles glanced at one another. She had taken a large piece of control that moment, but not day-to-day. Not in the smaller decisions.

Alex, impatient, asked, "Is there something we can do? I'm not talking about overuse of force," he added, to Charles, "but there's a middle road between tyranny and letting them hurt our—our family. That's not okay. We can't let that happen."

Then he dropped his head, unsure where to look. Alex didn't know who was behind this, but he believed it might be the Brotherhood. In a way, that was simpler, a mutant problem for mutants to solve. There were Charles's feelings to consider, but Alex knew that as much as he cared about Charles, he wouldn't let his family be threatened.

If a human-run corporation was behind this, though, other humans would care if the X-Men retaliated. There could be consequences.

"I don't know," Charles admitted.

"She's thirteen!"

"I know. I know that, Alex, and what happened was inexcusable, but we can't stop them from building these machines. Trying will only make them more determined. Ruth, how did you do it?" he asked. "You worked for the government, they must have known what you were."

"I worked for the army and for Mossad," Ruth replied, "but they did not do this. They knew I was a mutant and used this to their advantage. It would be incomparable."

"Charles, Alex is right," Raven said. "There has to be something we can do."

"Well we can't deal with them directly," Hank said. "They might know where we are, but we do that and they will know. We need to be covert, but not destructive. What if we interfere with their coding system?"

"I'm sorry, their what?" Charles asked, echoing the blank looks on the others' faces.

"Their coding system," Hank repeated. "I've seen these machines. The technology is… advanced, but there must be some computerized base for it. Computers are delicate. If we can find a way to interfere with—to destroy the coding—or even the computer itself…. A computer can be replaced. It's expensive, but it's possible. The work that went into it would set them back, possibly years."

"They won't have a copy?"

Hank shook his head. "Making a copy of something on the computer isn't like making a photocopy, it's not easy. The computer and the punch cards and they won't easily recover. Just so you know, we would be destroying hundreds of thousands of dollars in equipment."

"Cool."

The others looked at Sean, even Alex a little incredulous. "Dude," he murmured. "Not now."

"Yeah. Of course," Sean replied.

"Me and Hank," Alex said. "We can handle this. I can blast those things and Hank will know if it's done right."

"I will drive the getaway car," Ruth volunteered.

"Do you drive fast enough?" Raven tried to retort, but the responding nods answered her question. Ruth drove very fast. Raven tried again, "You'll need me, too."

"Why?" Alex asked.

"Because we were planning something, before Erik… before what happened with Erik. Emma found their entry codes. I know those codes. These people, you can't imagine the technology they have. I can replicate their fingerprints."

"Tonight," Alex said. "Saturday night—it'll be deserted. And we do want this understood. Like it or not, this is revenge."

After some discussion, they agreed to leave at half past eleven—partly because that meant arriving around one a.m., when the place would be deserted; partly so everyone could catch at least a few hours of sleep.

Alex held back as the others shuffled out of the study.

"Alex." Charles sounded six kinds of wrung out. "What can I do for you?"

"You know when you join the army, the first thing they teach you is that you're gonna die," Alex said.

Charles looked perplexed, but he nodded, accepting.

"It affects how you deal with your life, other people. You need to be square. That's important."

"Yes—and I absolutely agree, but what is it you want?"

Alex took a deep breath. "You have Scott on lockdown, I get that, but I need to see him. He's my brother." He did not think it would be fair to say Scott was the only family he had. He realized that he had accepted Ororo as a little sister. All of them—Sean and Charles, Ruth and Hank, even Laurie and Doug were like distant cousins he didn't really know but felt loyal to all the same.

Scott and Alex were different, though. There was family and there was family, the people with whom you counted a kinship and the person you crawled into bed with as a toddler for protection from monsters.

Charles nodded. "Yes, of course."

"I'll go spring him."

"No, you won't. Your brother's being punished, he'll stay put until he's ready to apologize. Go see him."

Alex considered asking if he could bring pizza later—he knew it would be pizza night. The only decent cook was Ruth. Scott could sub in if you wanted peanut butter sandwiches or pancakes for dinner, but usually when Ruth wasn't cooking, they had pizza or Chinese takeaway. But he knew the answer would be no.

He didn't ask, just walked into Scott's room with a, "Hey, twerp." Scott was on the floor, doing push-ups. He stopped when Alex came into the room, but didn't straighten up.

"Heard of knocking?" Scott asked.

Alex threw a t-shirt at his head.

"Turn around," Scott said.

Alex didn't particularly care, but he turned around. After a moment he realized it was because of the scars. There were a few on his back, as well, one curving around from his chest, under his right arm; another, cross-hatched from stitches, had to be at least five inches. Alex didn't ask for details about Scott's childhood. Then again, did he need to?

_One day I'm going to go back to Omaha and I'm going to kill him._

"'K."

Alex turned again.

"Mission, right?" Scott asked.

Alex nodded. "We're going tonight. Charles says you've gotta stay in your room, but it's fine for me to be here. You shouldn't've said that, Scotty."

"Don't call me—and I know—I was just… mad."

Alex couldn't hold back a laugh. "Really?" he said, dripping sarcasm. "But you have to lay off Erik. That's sacred ground."

"What do you mean?"

Alex took a seat at Scott's desk. Scott sat cross-legged on the bed, then changed his mind and went to his dresser. Alex nearly laughed again. It was like his brother was prepared to be sent to bed hungry and kept an emergency junk supply.

Scott broke a Snickers bar in half and handed part of it to Alex.

"Thanks."

"You never, ever since—ever since you, I keep hoping it'll all be different. That I'll wake up and it's just a bad dream. Like we can be a family again and Mom will sing 'You Are My Sunshine' and make it all better."

Alex thought that through for a moment. He didn't know what to say. Couldn't fault his little brother for wanting a family, could he? Actually, it was a little bit sad and something with which Alex was no help at all.

So he made a joke: "'You Are My Sunshine'? Man, I knew your taste was soft, but…"

"Mom loved that song!"

"Suuure."

"She did! She sang it when she put us to bed! And when we were sick!"

"Okay, I believe you. You're still a sissy, but I believe you."

He had the distinct impression that Scott rolled his eyes, but he smiled. Alex smiled back. Then he changed to a more serious subject:

"I warned you, Scott. I told you, mind your manners, weather the storm. There's ground you can't risk with Charles. Part of it's Raven. The other part's Erik."

"Erik," Scott repeated, "he's—"

"He's the guy you called an asshole. Which is what got you locked up. You were treading some rough water mouthing off, but I don't think anyone's ever mattered to him like Erik. He can't see what Erik's become."

"Alex, when we met him, Professor Xavier tried to keep us away from him. You did, too."

"Yeah, well, Charles isn't stupid, he's just—he's kinda blind. Sometimes someone gets inside you and it's hard for you to see them clearly. He knows Erik's ideas are harsh and twisted, he just doesn't get that Erik is, too."

"But you do?"

Alex considered carefully before saying, "Erik was a friend, but not like he was with Charles. They had a different sort of… thing." When Scott looked perplexed, "Erik was proud of his mutation. I think Charles admired that. Charles talks about us like we're theoretical; Erik is in your face about it. He doesn't hide who is, doesn't care what other people might think. Not like Charles does, not like we do."

"You admire him, too," Scott observed.

"He's cold, but it takes courage to be out in the open about your mutation."

Scott scoffed. "Bull," he retorted. "If he doesn't care about other people, of course he's out in the open about it. That's not courage—doing something easy isn't courage."

The words hung between them for a moment as Alex realized that his own opinion of Erik was a little tangled up, too. They had trained with Erik as well as Charles. Charles was, in many ways, the better teacher, and Alex had suspected for some time that he and Erik never worked together because Alex would've killed him. Not on purpose—but he would've. He was glad he hadn't. Erik had saved them all in Cuba. Yes, Charles was crippled because of Erik. As Alex saw it, he was also alive because of Erik.

Scott had finished his half of the candy bar and now hugged his knees to his chest.

"Alex?"

"Still here."

"Don't go."

Alex sighed. "Scotty—"

"No—please. Please don't. The only reason you're doing this is because of what happened today. You're acting out of anger. Be smart and stay here and protect us."


	16. Tea Candles

"It should be me."

A part of Charles recognized that he should want to protect his home, his friends, the children—and he did. He trusted the X-Men to see that task through, though. He simply could not help thinking, even to murmur it to himself…

It should have been him.

He had started all of this. Moira found _him_. The CIA worked with _him_. Yes, and the others, and Erik, but not at the same level. Charles started this and the others would be having the adventures while he stayed home to mind the children.

The students were old enough that 'minding' was more of a contingency position. In the unlikely event that something went wrong, Charles would be there. In the far likelier event that everything went as planned, he would remain where he was, in bed.

He sighed and reached for the book on his bedside table. He had just removed the bookmark when someone knocked at the door.

Charles sighed.

Now, who could that be?

Unfortunately the person likeliest to break social rules by knocking at this time of night was the last person he wanted to see. Charles had not yet forgiven Scott for his earlier outburst. He was used to Scott's need to make things right. It was tied into the same anxiety that made him hide until he was ready to do so, which was what Charles had hoped he was still doing.

Aware that he needed to address whoever was interrupting his well-deserved sulk, Charles called out a weary, "Come in."

When the door opened, however, it was not Scott who stepped into the room. It was a much more welcome figure.

Charles had, for a time, been convinced he was seeing what he wanted to see in Ruth's behavior. She was being friendly when she smiled at him; she touched his arm as a comforting gesture; and that time the two of them were alone in the kitchen, she had not licked honey from her fingers to torment him but because it dripped from a piece of toast.

Now he knew better. Ruth was not being friendly with Charles. She was being suggestive. As she slipped into his bedroom, she may have looked plausibly on her way to work, but Charles knew better.

"Am I interrupting?"

"Not at all." No, not in the least! His mood brightened when he saw her.

She sat at the edge of his bed. Only then did Charles realize what she had in her hands. He looked curiously between Ruth and the… what were they called? Ah! Yes! Tea candles. Why had she brought him tea candles?

As if reading his mind, though this was not her power, Ruth asked, "Do you know what these are?"

"I think I do, but I suspect you'll tell me I'm wrong," he answered honestly. "What are they?" She tended to have a very different worldview. He chalked it up to the thorough pragmatism of her past—he spent his time in study, while she spent hers defending her country. That, and he was learning that Jewish culture and Protestant culture were very different.

True to form, she gave an unexpected answer: "Magic."

He raised an eyebrow. "Magic?"

"Of course magic! What, you think I am here to lie to you?"

Charles laughed. "Your accent gets thicker when you pretend you're cross," he informed her.

"You are one to talk."

Ruth struck a match and lit the first candle.

"These are magic," she told him, "at least to my people. They must be." A second match and a second flame. They cast too little light to see by, but the lamp added just enough for visibility and flickering shadows. If the candles themselves weren't magic, Ruth's talent for showmanship was.

Charles knew it made her a good teacher. She was engaging and enthusiastic. At the moment, however, he wasn't thinking of her as a teacher at the Institute but as… they had not used the words 'boyfriend' or 'girlfriend', which seemed silly. They never defined it. He wished now they had, because his 'appropriate terminologic descriptor' sat only a few feet away, transforming reality with hypnotic words and the faint smell of smoke and the way the light flickered against her lips.

Cherry chapstick—he knew from experience.

"We light the candles to welcome Shabbat," she explained. "But this is a problem. We must bless the candles before we light them, but once we have sung the blessing it is Shabbat and we cannot light the candles."

Charles did not ask why. He wasn't one to interrupt a narrative, not one he knew was designed to entrance him and which was successfully doing just that.

"So we light the candles… and we cover our eyes." She did so, lightly holding her hands in front of her face for a moment before dropping them. "We sing the blessing and take in the beauty of the light, for the first time, on Shabbat."

Charles considered this for a moment. He considered her. Then he observed, "You haven't said your blessing."

Ruth answered matter-of-factly, "Of course I have not, this is not Shabbat and you are not Jewish. But they are still candles, and candles are still magic." She set both on the bedside table, beside his all-but-forgotten book. Then she leaned nearer and he forgot about the candles as she kissed him.

She tasted like cherries.

"I know all is not well between us," she murmured. "I know this."

She kept kissing him. He found himself considerably less focused when she did that—not that he objected.

"But tonight… there is magic."

* * *

 

Later, as they waited together for the hours to tick past, Charles tried not to fall asleep. It was strange, because he did not worry about Ruth. She would come home. He simply did not want this moment to end. Of course she would come home, but there was so much in their lives. There was the school, the kids, the robots, the wheelchair. There was reality.

Now there was just Ruth lying in his arms.

"Are you indulging me?" Charles wondered.

Ruth chuckled. "Yes, this is terrible for me," she teased.

"You don't need me to hold you."

"No, but I like it."

It was one more thing he lost, that day on the beach. He was not exactly romantically confident anymore. How could he be, in his state?

Ruth found his hand and laced her fingers through his. "I do not need anyone to hold me," she said, "but I like that you do."

Well, there was a balm!

"Do you know what we should do?"

"I can think of a few things…"

"We should go out."

"Go out?" That was not what he had expected. "On a date?"

"No, outside. I want to see the stars. Yes, on a date! Sometime—later."

She didn't need to say it. He understood that she meant. After the mission, the danger, the drama—when everything returned to what passed for normal—they should have a date.

"You wouldn't be embarrassed?"

"To be on a date?"

"To be on a date… with…"

Charles hesitated. He was very lucky, he knew that. There were few pitying thoughts and fewer pitying looks in this house, and he did not go out much so he avoided that as well. But he was still going to need the wheelchair for the rest of his life and if people saw him with Ruth…

"No," she said.

"…a cripple."

"Charles, I am stronger than almost everyone here." The only person stronger than Ruth was Hank, due to their respective mutations. "I am stronger than almost everyone I know. Physically. But you are a good man and I do not care what anyone else thinks. Does this embarrass you? That you are a cripple?"

"No."

"Well then."

"But I'm not dating me."

"Well, you are in love with yourself, it is that same."

"I beg your pardon!"

Ruth laughed and Charles had to admit, while the remark smarted a little, it _was_ funny.

"What about the children?"

"You think they are embarrassed by you?"

"I think we can't just leave them on their own."

Ruth considered that for a moment. Doug was eighteen now. By the time she and Charles managed an actual date, Ororo would have had another birthday, making her fourteen. They were not adults, but not truly children, either.

"Hank."

"Hank?"

"You know. He is blue, furry—big guy? Science type?"

Charles laughed. "I know who Hank is."

"You do not usually talk about him in bed?"

He laughed again. This woman did ruin a perfectly good sulk, didn't she? He barely remembered why he had been unhappy. Well, he remembered—he simply found himself not caring.

He knew she would have her way, of course. He wanted the same. In a few days or a few weeks, once things had settled down, they would go out. He was not sure what they would do. This was a more serious relationship than he was used to, something that would need adjusting to.

Not only from him, either.

What would Raven think? She would have to accept it. Maybe those weeks would be useful cooldown time. She could be so hotheaded, so protective, and she and Ruth were hardly friends… but those were concerns for another time.

For now he had a relationship with a woman who just might love him, who he just might love. It wasn't something he ever went looking for, but something with which he could easily be content.


	17. Are we there yet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding a reference to someone earning $2 an hour, in 1964 minimum wage was $1.25 an hour.

The first time they destroyed a crop of metal monsters, they arrived via teleporter. This time they drove. It took longer, long enough for Alex and Sean to fall asleep in the back seat. Raven might have been sleeping, also. Ruth and Hank, who sat in the front, had little to say.

Occasionally they exchanged a few words.

"Left in two miles."

Or,

"We should stop for fuel."

It was the stop that startled Alex awake and his moving around that woke Sean.

"We there?" Sean asked, still half-asleep.

"We're at a gas station," Alex observed, "we're not there. Shove over, I wanna get out."

"Why?"

"I need a piss and a Coke."

Sean stepped out of the car and Alex after him. The station was otherwise abandoned, just the lot of them in the car and a boy in a baseball cap manning the pumps. Alex took his time perusing the snacks, knowing all along he would use the restroom and buy himself a Coke, just like he claimed.

He noted that Hank spent this entire time in the car, low in his seat like he could disappear, like there was anyone to notice his fur.

As they pulled away from the station, Alex asked Ruth, "Are we there yet?"

Ruth didn't answer.

"How much longer?"

"Half an hour," Hank replied.

Sean groaned. "Remember when we had a jet? What happened to your jet?"

"First of all—technically—the jet belonged to the CIA," Hank began, "and second, we have nowhere to store a jet."

"Charles owns a small national park," Sean grumbled, but he shifted to lean against the window, preparing to continue his nap.

In the car, they were themselves—were Sean, Hank, Alex, Ruth, and a rather quiet Raven. They left that behind when they left the car. The last half-mile was on foot and in silence.

The compound itself was composed of low, wide buildings surrounded by barbed wire. The night was dark, but the compound was well-lit. Any intruders would be swiftly spotted. After watching for a while, the X-Men concluded that they needed only worry about being spotted by four security guards.

"Havok," Ruth said, "find us a gate."

"Huh?"

"Blast the fence," she translated.

Rather than respond out loud, Alex sent a whirl of red light that sheared through the fence. It continued on, spinning until it hit the building, and left scars on the wall. He hadn't meant to. He just couldn't regulate his power well enough to avoid it.

"Banshee," Ruth murmured.

Sean nodded and stepped forward—not to be nearer the compound, but in front of his friends when he shrieked.

The sound brought four rent-a-cops running. The remaining three members of the team blurred forward now. Hank grabbed two security guards and smacked their heads together, rendering both unconscious. Ruth and Raven each took out a guard. In less than a minute, all four men lay unconscious on the ground.

It was Sean who carried the zip-ties. He, Hank, Alex, and Ruth each tied one man's hands and ankles—though Sean looked the least comfortable with it.

"They weren't good people," Raven said. "Don't feel sorry for them."

The others looked at her, except for Hank. Hank looked away.

"You do not know this," Ruth replied. "You do not know _them_. Perhaps they have families, know nothing of what goes on here, make two dollars an hour. But they are not dead. Perhaps they will lose their jobs, but they are not dead and we do this only because we must."

Raven scoffed. "Have to be pretty stupid not to know what goes on here."

"This profession does not attract Rhodes Scholars. We are wasting time."

Ruth started toward the building as if expecting the others to follow her.

They did.

The door had no lock, only a square pad. The look Raven shot Ruth then made the guys shiver. Any of them could handle themselves in a fight. Alex, in particular, had seen his share of brawls. Angry women were another topic altogether.

Sean shifted closer to Alex to murmur, "Ten bucks on Ruth."

Alex considered. There was a time and a place for everything, of course, but he found himself reminded of just how young Sean was, that he would only be twenty next month. Alex was only four years older, but somehow Sean seemed totally unprepared for this.

It was certainly more haunted than Cuba. Outside the compound's lights, the world disappeared. They even heard crickets, which apparently did not sleep in the middle of the night.

"Fifteen says Raven throws the first punch," Alex murmured back. Ruth would probably _win_ if they fought—Raven might have some training, but Ruth was a veteran with more military experience than Alex cared to ask about—but Raven would start it.

"You're on."

Meanwhile, Raven's hand rippled. Her blue skin receded. Her fingers stretched; her palm widened. She even mimicked the watchman's swollen knuckles. When her hand rested against the pad, it was the hand of a middle-aged man at the end of her slender blue wrist. The pad itself glowed faint green.

Nothing happened.

She gave a frustrated grunt, removed her hand, and concentrated.

When she touched the scanner again, it once more lit up under her hand. Then the door slid open.

The five of them peered into the dark hallway. There was nothing, just smooth walls into the darkness.

"This feels like a trap," Alex murmured.

"No—it was too difficult to access. Without Raven, we—"

"Okay," Alex interrupted Hank, "but it _feels_ like a trap."

"Who wants to go first?" Sean asked.

Hank stepped forward.

He knew it _could_ have been all kinds of booby trapped. He could have stepped inside and been knocked out, triggered a trapdoor, even been killed—but he did not think any of that would happen. He was quite gratified when it didn't.

When he swept the wall and found the light switch, and it was also not booby trapped, he felt doubly gratified.

"We should move on."

Maybe there wasn't danger here, but there was a job to do.


	18. Perimeter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The posters described in this chapter are Seven Samurai, Ben-Hur, and Some Like It Hot. The woman in question is Marilyn Monroe.

It was Ruth who brought Ororo home from the orphanage.

As she slipped out of her bedroom that night, Ororo remembered sitting in the front seat of Ruth's car, the comfort of someone speaking to her in Arabic, a language she knew and understood. In the orphanage, everyone spoke English. A nun would smack your knuckles with a ruler if you didn't.

But Ruth spoke fluent Arabic with barely an accent.

Ororo made her way to the kitchen, thinking about that. It was strange, really, that Ruth spoke _Arab_ Arabic. In Cairo, she pickpocketed to eke out a living, so she could spot tourists easily. She knew that Israeli tourists usually spoke English, because Israeli Arabic had so much Hebrew mixed into it.

As she reached for the light switch, Ororo decided it didn't really matter why Ruth spoke Arabic as she did. She hadn't cared that first day, even when Ruth said that Charles and the others did not. Now…

Now Ororo froze, her hand grazing the light switch.

She squinted at the kitchen window. It was dark outside, but she could have sworn she saw something moving by the trees—something bigger than Scott's cat.

But that couldn't be. This place was secure. Among the Maasai, they lived within a fence built from branches and thorns. The school had not only the most sound walls Ororo had ever lived within but a brick wall at the perimeter.

That was a new American word. Perimeter.

So why did Ororo suddenly feel more vulnerable than she had ever been?

This wasn't the calm, sure girl she trusted herself to be. This was a creeping feeling of something in the darkness behind her that made her scared to turn around. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest and saliva collected in her mouth because she wanted to swallow but couldn't.

And what she feared, in the dark, the strangest thing… it wasn't a person. It was walls, closing in, falling down…

It happened again!

Something moved, there, in the darkness—in the darkest dark, in the shadows, _people._

Ororo turned and ran.

She raced down the hallway until her stupid nightgown, which she hadn't liked to begin with, tangled around her legs, and she took a corner too quickly, sending her careening into a wall. The impact stung her shoulder right to the bone.

She held handfuls of the nightgown, resolving to never wear the stupid thing again. Ever.

"Scott!"

Ororo didn't think about where she was going, just ran on instinct. Instinct brought her to Scott's bedroom. She didn't bother with knocking. She burst in, turned on the light, and shook his shoulder. "Scott, someone's here!"

His first response was a less-than-reassuring, "Huh?" It was followed by a more reassuring, "They're back?"

"No!" Couldn't he just _get it_? Stupid, stupid… "I saw people outside!"

It was all she could do not to sigh in relief: Scott immediately sat up. All this time, his eyes had been closed. Now he grabbed his glasses and pushed back the covers.

"Get Doug and Laurie and go to the shelter," he said, making his way out of the room. He started down the corridor.

Ororo understood that she was supposed to go in the opposite direction. Doug's bedroom was nearest. It was stupid, that was all she could think now: the boys and the girls had rooms off different corridors. They should have all been in one place, in case… and she didn't want to run into the dark alone. Suddenly the walls felt too close.

Scott turned.

"Ororo!"

She tried to speak. It didn't work.

Scott grabbed her shoulders and shook her.

She should have pushed him away. She should have at least snapped at him—but she couldn't.

The last thing she expected after he let her go was to feel his hand wrap around hers. When he tugged her along, she didn't resist.

Scott burst into Doug's room much as Ororo had into his, switching on the light. This was the first time Ororo had seen Doug's bedroom. She liked the posters. In spite of the situation she could not help noticing that his awful wallpaper was hidden, in places, with samurais and chariots and—she raised an eyebrow. That woman was rather… delightfully provocative! It didn't bother Ororo, but she was surprised Charles allowed the picture.

Scott, meanwhile, had shaken Doug awake.

"Someone's here," Scott said. "Take Ororo and Laurie and go to the shelter."

"What?" Doug asked, his disbelief painfully loud.

"Get Laurie and go to the shelter," Scott repeated. He did not say it gently, but like an order. "Now."

Doug didn't look happy, but he got up and headed into the hallway with Scott and Ororo. Once more, Scott started away from them.

"Laurie's this way," Doug reminded him. It wasn't exactly a straight line, but nearer to the bomb shelter.

They should have predicted Scott's answer:

"Professor Xavier isn't."


	19. Empty Houses

Ororo, Laurie, and Doug reached the shelter first.

Before, the shelter was a long room with rough stone walls. Changes had been made. Some of the walls had been smoothed and fitted with thick padding; a similarly padded partition turned this into a strange sort of half-room within the room.

Ruth used it to teach krav maga on rainy days ever since Charles insisted rainy-day classes be held indoors.

Doug and Laurie sat on the padded floor. He had his arm around her shoulders and was murmuring, "It's okay," and, "breathe," over and over.

Ororo stood by the open door, her jaw clenched. Bomb shelters were built for functionality, not comfort, and this one was freezing cold. She wished she had worn socks.

The cold helped, though. It pierced through even her fear, forcing her to focus on the present. The present was very, very cold. It was discomfort and the paleness she felt so far from fresh air. All of these were nothing but flea bites. Ororo could handle them.

At sounds from outside the door, she bolted forward. Laurie whimpered.

"It's okay," Ororo reported. She didn't care for Laurie, but being scared was pretty reasonable right now. Not everyone was an accomplished thief and the hand of a goddess. Doug, Laurie, and Ororo were a huddle of cold, scared kids in the night. "It's them."

A moment later, Professor Xavier entered the shelter. Scott was behind him, looking annoyed. He pulled the door shut.

Laurie and Doug scrambled to their feet.

They were students. They did what students do: they looked to their teacher for answers.

"The Brotherhood," the Professor reported, "Erik's… friends. They-" he began, then thought better of it. "We'll be all right. We can stay here until they have what they came for or the others return. Either way—"

"No," Scott interrupted.

"Scott—"

"Tell them what you told me."

"Scott." Professor Xavier was short on patience. Everyone was: this was scary. "This isn't the time."

"They want Cerebro," Scott said, ignoring the Professor's implicit request. "Hank is my friend and this is my home." He had crouched to be more level with Xavier, suggesting the eye contact he wasn't capable of giving. "Whether you like it or not, you're family. There is no version of this where we hide in here and everything is okay. If they just want Cerebro, they'll take it, and as powerful as they are now, they'll be worse, and I won't let Hank's work be corrupted. If they came here to hurt you… I don't accept this, Professor. I don't accept that people can come into our home and we let them, and if you're going to throw me out for this then do it tomorrow, because I am staying tonight. And I am fighting back. Isn't that what we train for?"

The Professor shook his head. "You train to be ready when the time comes, yes, but you're just a child now."

"I haven't been a child in a very long time," Scott returned. "And I was never much good at it, anyway." He stood and stepped nearer to the door.

Ororo followed.

"Wait up," Doug called.

"Doug, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you're a translator—"

"Who routinely pounds you in krav maga," Doug interrupted. It was true that he was the best at martial arts, nothing like on level with Ruth but better than the other students. He was not as strong or as fast as Scott, didn't have Ororo's agility, but he was the best fighter. Besides, "I'm eighteen. I'm an adult."

Seeing that the three of them would not be swayed, Charles warned, "They have a telepath. The most I'll be able to do is grapple with her, mentally, as long as we're both in the fight."

"How about just keeping aware of us?" Scott suggested. "This goes south, we'll be back here. Laurie?"

Laurie shook her head. She had been quietly breaking down over the course of the conversation and now her eyes welled up. "No," she said, softly. "I won't do this, I _can't_." She didn't have an offensive power. She wasn't good at krav maga. It wasn't fair that she should have to be, suddenly, prepared for… this!

"I won't ask you to," Scott replied. "I'd ask Ororo to stay back too if I thought she'd listen. Just be ready to shut the door, can you do that? If we come back, or—or if we don't."

Laurie nodded.

"You're sure?"

She nodded again. "I can do that."

"Good."

He hesitated for a moment, then, looking for all the world like he didn't know what to do next. He didn't. Resolution was one thing and Scott had every intention of following through, but… what next?

He glanced at the others. Ororo and Doug looked about as terrified as he felt and when this was all over, Scott was going to throw up. For now, what choice did he have? Because as scared as Doug and Ororo looked, they were waiting for Scott to make the call.

Laurie… she was scared, too. Scott could see it, they were all scared, and he wanted nothing more than to sit down and close his eyes, make this all go away. He didn't look at the Professor. If he acknowledged even for a second that he trusted someone else, he would cede. He would sit and hide and let this happen.

"Let's go."

Scott turned and led the others from the shelter.

The hallways were dark and eerie, like the nightmarishness of an empty house trebled with the knowledge that it was not, in fact, empty. They all kept their footsteps as soft as possible and every sound seemed too loud—but every sound came from them. The Brotherhood, if they were inside, were not close.

Ororo nudged Scott. He understood: _follow me._ Since she moved silent as a cat, he and Doug obeyed. She led them through a door and they saw, thanks to a scrap of moonlight creeping around the curtains, the faint outline of a bed.

How many bedrooms did this place have?

Ororo did not pause. She guided them through another door, what that door behind them, and flicked on the light.

They were in a bathroom. The boys both understood. This room had no windows to the outside, no doors to the hallway. They wouldn't be spotted by the light.

"What do we do?" she asked.

"For all we know, the telepath is already aware of everything we've thought," Scott began.

"Yippee," Doug muttered.

"But we have to make a plan, anyway. We have to try. Start with the teleporter. Tail, red skin, hard to miss. If he's here, he's Enemy #1."

Ororo shook her head. "The telepath."

"Professor Xavier can handle the telepath. The teleporter can get to him and Laurie, so he's our target. Try to stick together. And remember: get in quickly, maximize damage, get away."

Ruth taught them how to fight, and she also taught them what was sensible. What was sensible was staying alive—and that meant close in, attack, flee.

"Anyone else wish we could just hide in the bathroom?" Doug asked.

Scott said, "Yes."

"No," Ororo retorted. "I wish they weren't here. But they are—let's go."


	20. Split Up

Some missions were routine. Sometimes, as mutants, they were able to help in ways others weren't. Sometimes they were in the right place at the right time, or able to get there before anything happened... and that night's mission was shaping up to be just such an adventure.

Boring. Easy.

Hank had no trouble locating the central computer system. Metal boxes lined the walls, tall as a man and wedged in side by side. They contained wheels and wires, almost like telephones.

To the others, they looked like nothing, like nonsense. They were clearly machines, but their purpose was impossible to guess. To Hank they were beautiful. He might have gone so far as to say that they were awe-inspiring.

Did they have to destroy these? Couldn't they just take them?

Yes, they were possessions. They were complex and expensive and belonged to somebody else. More than that, they were ideas. They were progress, state-of-the-art equipment that Hank hated to think of in pieces.

Red light blazed and three of the boxes were slashed to pieces. Hank gaped at Alex.

"That was it, right?" Alex asked.

"Yeah," Hank replied. He could not expect Alex to understand, any more than Hank appreciated cars. Now, give him a jet engine any day, but cars? Basic. Boring.

Alex sent another blast at the components, having no idea what this was, how beautiful this machine was. It was really just in their lifetime that computers were invented. Even then it was a single machine running in a hidden-away little room in England.

Technology, Hank observed, marched on so quickly. How long until these things could carry information between universities? How long until they became affordable to individuals, until Hank himself could get his hands on one?

Another burst of red light and metal blasted that hope. Hank was surprised to find a hand on his shoulder.

He glanced at Ruth.

She smiled in a sad, understanding way. Perhaps she did not know why, but she understood that this was painful for him.

He nodded, appreciative.

Alex, for his part, seemed to be enjoying the unfettered destruction as he made a room full of hours of work and incredibly expensive equipment turn into scrap metal and fireworks. It wasn't often he had the opportunity to just use his powers.

When the computer was beyond hope of repair, Ruth said, "We should look for their files. Then we are finished."

"I could destroy the building," Alex suggested. The use of his powers left him exhilarated.

Hank shook his head. "There could be something salvageable. Particularly something in a safe."

The good news was that telepathic information-gathering meant they knew all they needed to know. The company stored its records in this building, with backups in another. It turned out, according to Charles, that several laws were being broken. (Unsurprising, given that these machines attempted to kill children.) They kept their information consolidated.

"We should split up," Raven said.

"We will no such thing," Ruth replied.

"There are two goals, two things to destroy. If we split into two teams, we'll handle this twice as quickly."

Ruth regarded Raven for a moment. The guys shared knowing glances. Ruth and Charles both had "looks", moments in which their eyes issued warnings to students that they had very little patience for such nonsense.

Usually whoever earned themselves that look abandoned their behavior very quickly. Raven did not.

Ruth shrugged. "Very well. Building C, an interior room. First left, third right, fifth right, second door. 23, 29, 6."

"I'll take Alex with me-" Raven began.

"No. As you have made clear, you do not answer to me and I am no more responsible for you than a courtesy I extend to Charles. Go if you wish to go. I make no move to stop you. But the others stay with me."

"Hey-don't I get a say in this?" Alex asked, half because he minded and half because the fighting made him uncomfortable. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Okay, there was fighting sometimes-he lived with several teenagers-but not... not like this. Not now.

"No," Ruth replied. "Raven, you do as you will. X-Men, with me."

Sean and Alex followed Ruth, avoiding eye contact. Hank offered Raven a sympathetic glance as he, too, followed Ruth.


	21. Melee

Scott, Ororo, and Doug were resolved. They would do as they could to defend their home. To Ororo and Scott, it was the only home either of them had known in a long time. Even Doug, who appreciated his parents and home, found something here he did not there.

But the mansion sprawled. It had dozens of entrances and that was assuming they did not teleport inside.

_'They're coming in the front door.'_

The Professor's voice in their minds was familiar by now. With that came knowledge of their visitors: Emma Frost, a telepath capable of turning to diamond; Angel, who flew and spat fire; Azazel, a teleporter; Riptide, who created miniature tornadoes; Prism, with a crystalline body.

All of the students thought some degree of thanks and attempted to hide a heavy degree of fear.

What choice did they have? Scott felt himself shaking inside, but forced himself to walk forward. The floor was so cold under his feet, the air making him shiver, but this was his home. He did this for willingness to die rather than lose that. What was cold?

As he walked, he knew they needed to even the numbers as quickly as they could. There were five adults against three children-one whose powers were severely limited indoors, one a translator. Against the X-Men these jokers wouldn't stand a chance. But the X-Men weren't here now.

"We're going to have to do something I don't like," Scott murmured.

They did not continue to the front door. Instead, he led them up a narrow staircase, a servants' stair from when such things mattered and a good slip today.

"Where are we going?" Ororo asked.

Doug murmured back, "He's sure." That, for him, was enough.

"How could Raven do this?" Ororo wondered.

"You think it was Raven?" Doug asked.

"Of course it was Raven," Scott said. "They're here the one night Ruth and Alex and the others are all gone."

Doug hesitated to answer. Then, "They could've been following her."

The looks of skepticism on the others' faces should have been answer enough. At least one of them would have commented, too. They never had a chance.

Scott led them into a room filled with sheet-covered furniture and dust.

"Doug. C'mere."

Doug crossed the room.

Scott ran across the room. He opened one of the windows, then held up his hand, telling the others to wait. It felt like a long time to their frightened hearts and minds, then he motioned Doug back to the door.

"They'll send the teleporter," Ororo realized. It wasn't about the ordering of the sounds, only that they were heard. They would create suspicious sounds, and the teleporter would be sent to investigate.

Scott nodded. Then he motioned Doug forward.

Doug tried not to let on his feeling of terror. It was all he could do to walk forward calmly. Each breath and heartbeat stung his body all over. He knew the others felt the same. Scott was quivering like a guitar string. Ororo was tense, but angry also.

Scott confirmed that he saw Doug's fear when he laid a hand on the older boy's shoulder.

Doug wanted to express gratitude for the kindness, but instead felt a knot growing inside him. Why was he so frightened? He was eighteen, an adult legally. He didn't-shouldn't-need comfort from a boy. He shouldn't be out-manned by a 13-year-old girl.

And then, in a sickeningly familiar puff of brimstone stench, a demon arrived. He brought another with him, Prism, from the way his skin glinted.

Scott zapped the demon. The light of his power bounced off Prism, but it struck the other. Azazel fell back, thudding into a sheet-covered chair.

Prism ran at Scott, identifying him as the attacker, but Doug tackled him instead. He latched an arm around Prism's neck and punched him, repeatedly, in the side. Prism tried to throw him off, but Doug held fast. He was what one might politely call chubby and had been taught to use his weight to his advantage.

A singed smell filled the air, but a fork of lightning only struck the empty chair from which Azazel had teleported. The brightness startled Doug, causing him to loosen his grip. Prism threw him to the floor, where he landed with a thud and a crunch.

Scott punched Prism in the center of his chest. It was enough to drive the air out of him. The blow to Prism's head dropped him.

For a few seconds, Ororo and Scott looked at one another and tried to catch their breath. They tried to absorb the reality of what had happened: there were intruders in their home; one knew where they were; one was unconscious at their feet.

Then they went to Doug.

"He's unconscious," Scott observed. "That arm's broke."

"Hey, why wasn't I in any of that noise-making stuff?" Ororo wanted to know.

"'Cause you make about as much noise as a cat."

It was true: Ororo was simply too accustomed to making no sound. She wasn't a thief anymore, but she still moved like one.

A sudden arrival and a smell of sulfur interrupted them. In the center of the room stood Emma Frost, Angel, Azazel, and Riptide.

The children instinctively moved closer together, placing themselves between the Brotherhood and Doug.

"That's sweet," Emma commented. Her voice was rocks and blades and syrup.

"We're not here to hurt you," Angel added. "You can go and hide in the bomb shelter-that's where everyone else is, right? Go ahead and hide. We'll even forget about..." and she nodded in the general direction of Prism, crumpled on the floor.

The offer was tempting. Ororo was ready to refuse it only because she was too angry to accept. Her hands moved, toying with something behind her back.

"How do you know about the bomb shelter?" Scott asked.

"All these old places have-" Angel began.

"No. No, this place wasn't built in the 1940s, it was built 200 years ago, before atomic bombs were even _possible_. You knew."

The others looked at Angel, who sighed. "I trained here. For a while."

"You..." This was clearly a lot for Scott to absorb.

He blasted Angel through the window.


	22. A Baser Degree

Destroying paper research was much simpler than destroying a computer. The filing cabinets were locked, but the flimsy metal was no match for Hank and Ruth's strength. They flung pages and files into a metal trash can and lit the pile on fire.

And again.

And again.

The trash can was small and there were a lot of files. Waiting for them to burn down to ashes almost became boring after a while. They had to pour out the ashes twice, making a mess of the carpet.

It was Hank who struggled most with this. What they were doing seemed almost like corporate espionage taken to a baser degree. The difference was of course that they were not destroying this research out of a desire for profit.

They were doing it because that was the cost of survival.

Eventually, piece by piece, the entire body of research was turned to ash on the carpet. Anyone could see that it was a far from a nice carpet, anyway. It was certainly fair collateral damage.

"This is a boring mission," Alex observed softly.

"Dude, seriously?" Sean replied.

"We're watching Hank and Ruth burn papers," Alex retorted. "And not in the fun way."

They both snickered.

When they made their way out of the building, everyone remembered the seriousness of the occasion. Somehow they had been able to forget, while they were safe and inside. The darkness surrounding them and the cold air gnawing at them made everything seem more real, more dangerous.

The five of them made their way across the silent tarmac. The buildings bordered a courtyard, across which the X-Men trooped unceremoniously. It was not the most logical of places for a courtyard and they were not going to waste time circumnavigating the thing.

Sean nudged Alex and murmured, "You wanna play 'twenty questions'?"

It was half-joke, half-suggestion. Alex's part in this had been destroying the computer and that was done. Now that he thought about it, though...

"Hey, Beast!" Alex called.

Hank paused and turned to him. "Yes?"

"I thought we were just wrecking their computer."

"We were," Hank said. Alex and Sean had drawn equal with him, so he continued walking as he explained, "Charles found that while the encoding system is computer-based-well, of course-there were enough notes to rebuild it. We're not just taking away their equipment, we're undoing their progress."

"Didn't Raven say they had removed their designs?" Sean asked.

"They removed their designs for the robots themselves," Hank explained, "but we're disabling their control system. Turning the robots into metal dolls."

"Can't they build the whole thing up again?" Alex wondered.

"Yes."

"You do not stop trying because the system is imperfect," Ruth explained. "We cannot make them stop, but we will make this as difficult as possible."

"We _can_ make them stop." That was Raven's contribution. "If we were willing to be tougher, they would stop. If Charles looked past his lofty virtues-"

"We are not terrorists," Ruth interrupted.

Alex and Sean were clever enough not to ask when that became part of the equation. Obviously Raven did not mean she wanted to hurt anybody. She had gone with Erik, made a harsher choice, sure, but that didn't mean hurting people. She was still Raven, their friend.

Alex nudged Sean. Sean nudged back.

"She didn't mean killing people," Alex said. "Right, Raven?"

"It would send a clear message," Raven replied.

Neither Alex nor Sean tried to defend her then. They couldn't. Not when she advocated killing.

"Yes: we are monsters," Ruth said. "No one else wearies of this child's blather?"

Raven had taken many such remarks from Ruth. Usually it was in response to her own behavior, but Raven didn't see that. Raven saw that she was genuinely trying to help the others understand that there was a better answer than hiding behind mother's skirts-or in this case, behind Charles's skirts. She was trying to _do something._

She grabbed Ruth's shoulder. "Do you have something to say to me?"

Ruth looked from the hand on her shoulder to Raven's furious expression.

"Yes," she said, plenty calmly. She removed Raven's hand, firmly. "This is a mission. Not the time to argue."

She turned to continue, but Raven grabbed her shoulder once more. This time, Ruth did not accept the intrusion. She took Raven's arm and twisted it behind her back, holding the girl at a distance. From the look on Raven's face, it was none too gentle a hold.

"Now... can I trust you? Or must I restrain you while the boys complete our mission?"

Raven looked to Alex, Hank, and Sean. Her eyes welled with tears. "Guys? Are you gonna let her do this to me?"

Hank answered her: "Just tell her you'll stop, Raven."

Something like fury flicked across Raven's face, swiftly replaced with pain. "I'll stop," she whimpered.

Ruth released her.


	23. Job Offer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you speak Hebrew, you may notice that Scott uses a masculine command when speaking to Ororo. This is because Scott doesn't speak Hebrew well and is repeating a command that's been given to him.

Perhaps a second passed between Angel's rapid exit and light filling the room. Ororo brought her hands in front of her, palms to the intruders. A ball of lightning flew from her fingers and more in through the window. It focused on Azazel most, but sparked over Riptide and Emma, too.

Emma Frost herself had read the girl's mind a second before and shifted to diamond form, repelling the electricity. She did as Prism had, attacking her attacker, but Scott intercepted her. Punching her diamond skin lacerated his fingers, and he did not even slow her down.

He did, however, change her mind. She diverted her attention away from Ororo, instead smacking Scott in the chest.

Something cracked.

Scott fell to the floor and scrambled back to his feet, running to meet the threat approaching him. He swung at her, but she caught his hand and squeezed.

Meanwhile, the lightning faded from Ororo, the last forked tongues flickering and dying. The protective film faded from her eyes. She stood her ground, however. Owned it. There were now four bodies on the floor: Doug, Prism, Riptide, and Azazel.

Ororo turned her attention to Emma.

Behind her, a body began to rise. She didn't see it.

Scott did.

_"Shev!"_

Ororo dropped.

Scott's left hand was held tight in Emma's and as he moved he felt fingers pop out of their places. It made his stomach twist, but did not slow the free hand moving to his visor, did not stop the blast of red light knocking Riptide through the wall.

He would not be rising again in a hurry.

If Scott felt any glimmer of relief, it was short-lived, stamped out by the shooting pain in his hand, the throbbing pain in his chest, and the way Emma, with a cry, hurled him out the window.

Scott was lucky. There was an eave. He felt the glass slash at him as he broke another window, then the impact of the little piece of roof. His roll down it slowed his fall, and though he grasped he could not stop himself entirely.

Ororo did not even see the flash of red. She saw nothing. The second Emma turned away, Ororo fled the room. She didn't like it. Heaven only knew what the psychopath was doing with Doug. But staying would do her no good. She needed... she needed a plan.

And did not have one.

She knew Emma would be unaffected by lightning or hail. Winds might slow her down, but she would keep coming.

At the foot of the stairs, Ororo paused. She wanted to run after Scott and see if he was okay. If he could walk, maybe she would be able to take him to the shelter to be with Charles and Laurie--he would be safe there.

She _wanted_ to help him.

She knew she couldn't.

"Professor?" Ororo whispered.

 _'I'm here,'_ his voice in her head. He must have seen, as she did, that Ororo could not win this fight alone. _'There's no shame in it. Come to the shelter. You'll be safe.'_

But Doug wouldn't.

Scott wouldn't.

And Ororo was only happy to be the last woman standing if she didn't hide. Otherwise... otherwise she would be the one who lost consciousness last.

 _'What's this?'_ Another voice purred in Ororo's mind and she did not appreciate this one. It wasn't the Professor. It was okay for him to read her mind. _'Oh. Little orphan girl set to lose another home, is she?'_

Ororo ran. Outrunning the slithering voice itself would be impossible, but she had a good head start. Maybe Emma would not catch her.

_'Perhaps I'll burn it.'_

An image flashed through her mind: her first home, where she lived with her parents, turned to rubble.

_'You know all about that, don't you?'_

The abandoned factory where she lived in Cairo with other urchins and child thieves and beggars. That had been burned until it collapsed in on itself, taken down by a rival gang.

_'All those men you killed... did you know their throats burned, too?'_

When she was only a child, only twelve, she stole too much rain. Her village needed it. How was she to know she took it from others?

She thought she made the rain.

Ororo found herself in the dining room. She kicked aside a chair and scrambled onto the table. In her stupid nightgown, she was all but freezing, covered in goosebumps. The whipping wind seemed to warm her, though.

She had learned a few things from this country. Now she knew how to insult women, for example, so she used words that would pierce deep: "If you want me come and get me, you fat ugly bitch!"

The room was silent in answer. Her mind, too, was silent.

Ororo looked around. If Emma had not heard what she said aloud, she heard it in her mind. She knew a challenge had been issued. What did she want with two broken boys? There was no _fun_ in shattering Scott. Emma must have seen what he could take. And Doug was unconscious.

Her prize was right here, trying not to smile at her dirty footprints on the table.

"Come on," Ororo whispered.

"'Ugly'?"

Emma stood in the doorway, regarding Ororo as calm and collected as anything. She did not attack: this was a casual chat. They ought to make tea for it.

"You little tart."

Ororo responded with both hands, a gesture she had learned from Scott.

Emma smirked. "What class."

"I'm stronger than you."

It was almost plausible, but for the quaver in her voice on the first word.

"You won't break my spirit," Ororo amended. Because she knew. She knew all that she had done and carried it knowingly on her shoulders.

"Oh?" Emma sashayed into the room. Ororo could not help but notice it: she moved well, gracefully. Everything she did was an act, but it was a good act. "And who says I want to?"

That one startled Ororo. "What?"

"You're not like the others," Emma said. "You're not foolhardy or impulsive the way they are. You don't rush into things and get yourself killed."

Ororo could not argue that the boys were rash, but they weren't dead. Doug was just unconscious. Scott… a little fall like that…

"I don't have any interest in hurting you. I will if you force me, but I would rather give you a gift. Don't stay here and feign nobility. Don't waste your time with their premise of goodness. I could use a woman of your talents. Come with me and help yourself. Help your own people."

This was… a job offer?

"No."

Ororo was not even tempted. Was Emma insane?

"Leave the cripple."

The man who took her out of an orphanage, gave her a home and family.

"The Jew."

Not someone whose people ever did Ororo's any favors, only a woman who spoke her language, cooked foods from home, listened to her problems and her fears. Understood and accepted everything she was. The others accepted, but Ruth actually understood.

"These simpering, useless children who have left you alone."

Scott, who ran in front of a robot, left cover and ran to Ororo because she was scared.

"You have potential."

So she tried to imagine what Alex would say: "When you say that it kinda makes me feel like puking my guts out."

Emma's face changed when she realized that was more than a no. It was a never. "Darling, you called me ugly. Do you know what the very first requirement is, in this country, to be called beautiful?"

Ororo knew.

She knew Emma had it and she didn't.

"Soullessness?"

Emma paused. Her barb had sunk in; now she changed the subject. "There's a common thread among people like you, do you know what it is?" she asked. "Good types. Good girls, good boys. What you do is the reason you're here instead of down in the bomb shelter, safe. I can't get in. Did you know that? I can't break into a nuclear shelter. You could be safe."

She had crossed the room now and stood near to the other exit. For the first time, Ororo felt her confidence truly waver. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to fight Emma, probably be knocked out, but try.

What was the woman up to?

She smiled. "You can't beat me. I know where you're weak."

Ororo's heart twisted.

"I'm right here, you..."

Only she did not trail off. She said an obscenity that, coming from little Ororo, would have silenced everyone else in the house-even the gutter-minded, foul-mouthed Summers brothers.

Emma looked almost a shade of sorry. "You know who'll pay for that."

It was half a warning, half the closest she ever came to panic:

"Scott!"


	24. Marshmallows

A more subdued team of X-Men followed Ruth's directions to the second cache of files. Even Alex and Sean were quiet, and Hank made himself as easy to overlook as a furry blue giant can be.

The room was not what they expected, however. It seemed an ordinary office, but for the lack of windows. The lights were soft, almost pleasant.

"Where are they?" Raven asked.

"We will look," Ruth replied.

The boys took their cue. Everyone began to look through the office's few cabinets. They held nothing significant. Nor did the desk drawers, nor the stack of papers in a little-used "outgoing" tray.

Alex even blasted a few holes in the carpet, in case there was some hidden floor safe.

Raven sighed and started from the room.

"Raven? We shouldn't split up," Hank said.

"I have to pee."

"Why not go in here?" Alex suggested.

"Dude. Gross," Sean replied.

While this was going on, Ruth found herself examining the thick desk. It was easily the most expensive, attention-demanding article in the room.

"She can take any form she wants," Alex pointed out. He turned to Raven. "Can't you make yourself a guy?"

"Just to pee?"

Alex shrugged. "Yeah. Just your, you know."

Raven left the room. Hank could not keep from thinking that Ruth would not have been so uninterested were one of the guys going off alone, but Raven left and Ruth said nothing.

A moment later a loud crash jarred Hank from his thoughts. He, Alex, and Sean stared at Ruth. She had shoved the top off of the desk in the center of the room, but rather than appearing broken, the desk appeared... like a hidden safe.

"How'd you know?" Sean asked.

"They were nowhere else and I knew they would be in a safe. If this had not worked, I would have set Alex loose."

“Sorry it worked,” Alex said.

The safe was the back of the desk, a few inched wide with a spinning dial. The code was one more thing Charles had found telepathically. A few spins and the door fell open to reveal folders filled with papers.

"Can I light this one?" Sean asked. When the others only stared in response, he reasoned, "What? I've barely done anything."

Hank offered him a box of matches. Sean selected one, struck a flame, and dropped it into the safe.

The flame flickered for a few more seconds, consumed the match, and extinguished.

"I really thought that would work..."

Hank, to his credit gently, recovered the box of matches. He lit one of the files more carefully, holding a flame to edges of paper until it caught, then moving to the next file. Within a few minutes the entire contents of the safe were aflame.

"Anybody bring marshmallows?"

The question earned Alex disapproving glares.

Soon enough the second batch of files was reduced to ashes.

"Well, that was—" Hank began.

A series of loud pops interrupted him. They turned toward the noise: they were found! A group of small metal monsters, roughly the shape of birds, clustered in the doorway.

Of course they would have metal security as well as human in a place like this! It was only surprising the X-Men made it this far. Luckily two of them had enhanced reflexes, allowed Hank and Ruth to knock down what had been fired at them.

Small darts fell to the floor. Two hit Ruth, but could not pierce her skin. One fell; the other she plucked from her sleeve.

"Right…" Sean murmured. Inside he was screaming. What were those things? The birds? The darts? What was any of this?

The machines swept forward.

As the X-Men dodged them, Hank reached out to catch a specimen. He managed, though the creature fought against him. Apparently it wanted to be captured no more than any human being would. Or any mutant being, for that matter.

Sean yanked the door shut behind them. It probably wouldn't stop the machines, but it would slow them down. At least, he hoped it would slow them down. "What now?"

They couldn't just run, not without Raven.

"She went that way," Alex said.

"Ruth and I will stay here," Hank suggested. With a loud _crack_ , a wing separated from the metal bird. It was complete coincidence, but worked well to emphasize Hank's point. "Find Raven."

Alex and Sean did not stay to argue.

After they had gone, Hank queried, "Do you suppose they can open the door? They don't have anything like hands for gripping."

A whirring sound started up inside the room. He glanced at Ruth.

"Do not say things," she requested.

"That's reasonable," Hank acknowledged.

The whirring stopped. For a moment, the hallway was quiet. Sean and Alex's footsteps had all but faded. Ruth and Hank waited, expectant.

They were not disappointed.

The door creaked and began to fall forward. Both mutants stepped aside, apart from one another, easily clear by the time the door gained momentum and crashed to a stop against the wall. It was longer than the hallway was wide, forming a sort of ramp to nowhere.

Then their metal attackers spilled out. There were about half a dozen of them, firing small bursts that stung and left a scent of singed hair. Hank snarled and snatched one out of the air. His nails sank into it. He felt it continue struggling until he brought the thing to his mouth and bit it in half.

The little creatures upped their game then, rising above Ruth and Hank's heads. Each had taken down one.

Hank leapt onto the fallen doorway, the ramp to nowhere, using it as a springboard. He landed on one of the creatures, driving it to the ground. Another fired into his shoulder. Hank's face registered pain, though he didn't cry out.

He just snarled and turned, intending to destroy the thing.

He was too late. Ruth had found the machine-creatures' weak points. Hank watched as she drove her fingers beneath the wings and tore it open.

It was a simple matter then and between Ruth and Hank's efforts the ground was swiftly littered with metal pieces and fragmented wires. A few of the larger pieces twitched, but they were unable to rise.

"We find Alex and Sean," Ruth said.

"And Raven," Hank added.

"Yes. And Raven. It's time to go home."


	25. The Tools at You Disposal

_'Scott. Scott, wake up.'_

He didn't want to. In his too-fast-fading dream he was a little boy. He was four years old. The baby was asleep— _finally_ —and Scott curled on his mother's lap while she read to him.

_'Scott Matthew Summers, wake up NOW!'_

He touched his face, ensuring that his eyes were covered before opening them.

The encroaching reality he cared for less. His body was a mass of pains, the throb in his fingers telling him they were only almost numb, his chest cracked like ice, the overall bruising. His blast slowed the fall some and he landed, mercifully, in the snow. By some miracle nothing else seemed broken. He was bruised all over, though.

Bruised. Wet. Shivering.

The only part of him that felt okay was on his right arm. Something warned him against investigating why he felt warm anywhere.

It was all just so… familiar.

_'Move!'_

He didn't question the order, just rolled to his knees. His bad hand brushed the ground and he could not keep from whimpering. It triggered a memory—the pain and the sounds it wrung from him. A sharp slap. A hand at his throat. Another voice, a long-time-ago reminder, _Your voice is a privilege. I don't need you to speak, I allow you to speak. Consider this when you whine—_

Something singed the air beside Scott's ear.

He scrambled out of his memories and ran. Angel continued after him. He heard her wings buzzing and wondered, vaguely, how she wasn't freezing. He was so cold his teeth chattered and his bare feet stung with every step in the snow.

Even for Scott, this was a lot.

Yesterday someone tried to kidnap him.

Today he had taken a beating from a diamond woman, been thrown from a second-story window, and now was zigzagging to avoid a fireball from a flying assailant. He had twisted his ankle and it felt like it was on fire.

Summaries, he decided, were a little overrated sometimes.

He needed to do more than just avoid Angel, though. Until he took her down, Laurie, Doug, and Professor Xavier were not safe. And until he saw Ororo, Scott wasn't satisfied that she was safe, either.

He had barely finished thinking this but there she was: Ororo darting around the side of the house, not far behind Emma. And suddenly things became much, much worse.

Scott thought things over quickly. He saw the approaching threat, knew another fluttered in the air. So he spun around and blasted Angel. He didn't know if she survived or if it hurt when she hit the ground. He didn't care. The closest he could claim was a genuine desire to care.

And then she had him, Emma did, wrapping a diamond arm around Scott. The strange thing was how calm this made him. Yes, he was freezing cold and feeling light in the head and pain-throbbed everywhere else. Yes, he was afraid for his friends. But how stupid was this telepath to think she could frighten Scott by threatening his body? He didn't care if she broke it. He had learned long ago that it did not belong to him.

She could only frighten Scott by threatening Ororo, who was clearly the greater threat—and she did look afraid.

Scott snapped from 'calm' to 'angry calm'.

This woman thought she could come into their home and scare Ororo like that? Apparently not getting the response she wanted, Emma tightened her grip on Scott. He didn't care. Really, how dare she? Ororo was only thirteen years old!

Hank would say that he needed to find a way to _solve the problem using the tools at your disposal_. Which were: Ororo's power (ineffective), Scott's power (borderline effective as a very temporary defense), possibly Professor Xavier's telepathy (maybe—and ineffective against diamond form).

But there was something else, something Emma-stupid-Frost hadn't counted on.

"Ororo," Scott said. His voice shook from cold, but was nerves-steady. "Ororo, it's okay. But we need—we need _him_."

She shook her head, a silent query.

"Your opinion is not needed here," Emma said.

"Listen. I know you're afraid," Scott emphasized the last word, "but get Nico."

Ororo's eyes widened and her lips parted just slightly, the picture of fear. It was another of her useful tricks, to appear helpless or scared. The gleam in her eye of something like mischief said she understood.

After all, it had only been a week ago.

_"What's his name? Nico?"_

_"Niccolo."_

_"Niccolo. Fancy pants."_

_"I'm not being a fancy pants, that's his name. Anyway, he says both are best, but it's safer to be feared. Like, if people fear you, of course they'll do what you want."_

Ororo played along, shaking her head: "No. We can't—it's not that bad."

"Who is Nico?" Emma asked.

"Ororo, don't tell her! Just go get him!"

Ororo hesitated. "I can't leave you…"

"You know what he can do to her, he'll end this!"

Scott felt the change as soon as it began, the softening of the arm restraining him and the warmth of her body. Emma Frost had dropped her diamond coating to read his mind.

"Professor, now!" Scott called.

Behind him, Emma's face contorted into a sneer, but it only lasted a fraction of a second. Then Professor Xavier shut down her mind and her body fell backwards into the snow.

Ororo and Scott looked at one another. Besides sweat stains and cold shakes, she looked fine. He seemed much the worse for wear. Neither of them knew, though—was it over? They ran through the intruders in their heads, how each had been knocked to the ground.

Could they go inside now? They were so cold, but leaving Emma unguarded seemed foolish.

And—the strangest thing—was it over?

He walked over to her, each step burning cold, and wrapped his good arm around her shoulders. He meant to comfort her, but ended up leaning on her. She wrapped an arm around him and they stood, huddled together and shifting from foot to foot, until the Professor called them inside. It was only a minute or two.

It felt like a lot longer.


	26. A Drop in Temperature

When Ororo and Scott made their way inside, they found Laurie helping Doug into the sitting room. Doug looked like he might have been indignant over it but for the pain in the arm he held cradled to his chest. Both looked tired and stressed.

Which was nothing to how Scott and Ororo looked.

"Dude," Doug said shakily, "your arm."

Scott glanced at it. Earlier, he had noticed that this piece of him alone felt warm. Now he saw that it was warm with blood. He tried to take out the piece of glass embedded there, but his fingers were shaking too badly.

"Here—let me." Laurie pushed Scott's hand aside and gripped his arm with surprising strength. Scott had to fight his instinct to flex and force her hand away. He was glad he did: she deftly gripped the glass shard and yanked it out.

"Thanks, Laurie."

"Yeah."

"Professor Xavier said he could make sure they all stay unconscious."

"For how long?" Scott wondered. He knew 'no killing' was the Professor's Rule #1—well, not literally, Rule #1 was actually 'be home by 9:00'. But if they had killed the intruders, the Brotherhood, they would be safe.

"We, um, called the CIA. It turns out Emma Frost was their prisoner for a while."

Scott nodded.

Meanwhile, Ororo stood beside him, unable to speak. She was too cold, and too stubborn to walk away. Besides, she didn't know what to do in the face of this sort of cold.

Scott placed a hand on her back and guided her forward. "C'mon. Dry off and change your clothes."

"That feels… normal," Ororo responded.

They were moving away from Doug and Laurie now, toward their bedrooms. It gave them something like privacy. Although Doug had been with them at the start of the fight, neither Ororo nor Scott felt that he'd had the same experience. He was knocked out too early.

"It is normal," Scott replied. They had been out in the snow and were both very cold. In spite of the fact that they had been out in the snow battling against violent adult mutants bent on stealing a telepathy-enhancing machine, there was something very mundane happening to them. It was just a drop in temperature.

"I'm not wet. Not like you."

"Your feet are."

Ororo grumbled, but she headed away from him, toward her bedroom.

Scott was secretly grateful. He waited until they were in separate hallways, then reached out his right hand to steady himself against the wall. His entire body shook and he wasn't sure if he wanted to scream, cry, pass out, or piss himself. (Possibly multiple choices at once.) He hurt in so many places and in the just-above-freezing house the numbness was fading.

His right elbow was still leaking.

There were aching bruises on his face because just yesterday someone tried to kidnap him.

His chest crackled with every breath.

And on his left hand, two fingers were dislocated.

He had taken worse beatings in his life, but that didn't mean the pain hurt him any less. Gritting his teeth was second nature. He didn't cry out, didn't dare. Experience told him that Professor Xavier would never hurt him. Mr. Milbury, who ran the orphanage where Scott grew up, had not been so forgiving.

Scott made his way to the bathroom. With his right hand, he set a towel on the floor by the tub. There was a pretty good chance what he was about to do would make him puke and he was really not in the mood to clean it up.

He took one of those weird little towels he never used—what were those for, anyway?—and pinned it between his teeth. This wasn't his first rodeo.

Scott was left-handed. If his left hand was dominant, was the right submissive?

He thought about that as he wrapped his right-handed fingers around the left…

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Ororo stood in the doorway, staring and looking incredibly disapproving.

Scott moved his right hand away from the dislocated fingers, took the mostly-useless mini-towel out of his mouth, and told her, "This is the boys' bathroom."

That Ororo used that bathroom, too, was no secret. She and Laurie were often not getting along, and avoiding bumping into the older girl was just easier. Plus Laurie took forever (or at least fifteen minutes, anyway) doing her hair and putting on makeup.

"I'm telling Professor Xavier."

"Don't."

"You are American. Why would you do something so stupid?" Ororo asked. "A medic will come, a _trained_ medic, not some high school kid!"

The word "kid" sounded different from someone who had actually known young goats.

"You don't understand."

Ororo huffed and came to sit beside Scott. "Do it, then."

"What?"

"Do it."

"This is… private."

She leaned closer, obnoxiously close to his busted hand, like an eager scientist with a fascinating specimen. Dislike was clear on her face. She wasn't fascinated. This was about showing Scott who was tough and challenging him. If he was so sure this was right, he would do it in front of her.

He pulled his hand close to his chest. "You're my friend," he said softly. "I am asking you, as my friend, to leave me alone so I can take care of this."

"Those glasses make you blind."

Ororo touched his face gently, managing to find a few precious, non-bruised inches of skin. It was a strangely tender gesture and the most intimacy Scott had shared with her. He realized that he was used to affectionate gestures by now. The Professor reached out to him sometimes. Ruth had hugged him on more than one occasion. Alex was a fervent believer in headlocks.

This was different. This was someone his own age. Usually contact with Ororo meant she crawled into his bed if she was cold or scared or particularly lonely, always prickly because a person shouldn't question Ororo Munroe's strength of character.

She had offered him something.

Scott sighed and accepted.

With his hand both unusable and tender, Scott couldn't change out of his wet clothes. He ended up with a blanket wrapped around his and Ororo's shoulders. Hank had told her that a human body was, on average, 98.7 degrees. Ororo was young enough to be very satisfied with the number 100. 98.7 was close enough—that made her practically a space heater.

Ororo and Scott sat on the couch together. Doug had claimed a padded chair and sat with his arm cradled close, his face twisted up in pain. Laurie sat on the floor, although there were more chairs available. She sat with her knees close to her chest, alternately holding her head in her hands and leaning it back against the wall.

Professor Xavier tried talking to them. He had to. After too long a pause, he began with, "What happened tonight was unfair to all of you, but—"

Doug interrupted, "Professor, I don't think this is the right time."

They passed the time in silence until Ororo was proven right: the first to arrive were emergency medical technicians.


	27. Lasting Injuries

The EMT frowned. "He needs to go to the hospital," she told Charles.

Scott's thoughts were too loud to ignore. Whether he knew it or not, he had learned to project in such a way that a telepath could not help but hear him: _If you want me to go, I'll go, but not with them. Please not with them._

To say Charles hated this night would be an understatement. He was meant to protect these children. His one job, the one he disregarded as little more than a consolation prize before, was to look after them. Instead he allowed three of them into a dangerous fight well out of their depth.

Two had been seriously injured, but none of them would ever be the same.

Charles had only telepathically followed the struggle, but he had been with Laurie. He saw what this did to her. The girl was terrified.

Luckily there were no lasting injuries to any of them. They would heal.

Doug had agreed to go to the hospital to get a cast for his broken arm and for observation. There was some concern that he might have a concussion.

Ororo had bruises and some scratches on her legs, none too deep. She had run through bushes to catch up to Emma. When Emma wanted to hurt Ororo, she did it through someone else.

The EMT had popped Scott's fingers back into place, but he had a cracked rib, needed stitches on his elbow, and the bruising on his face raised some suspicions.

"I don't think that's necessary," Charles decided. No, Scott would not be going to the hospital. His expression was one of annoyance, but he radiated fear. Leaving would do him more harm than good.

The EMT wasn't happy about it. "You're denying necessary medical care to a minor. Child endangerment is—"

Charles was frustrated and tired, too worn out to deal with this. Touching his fingers to his forehead, he said, "He's fine. You're going to tape up his fingers and take Doug to the hospital."

She started to tape Scott's fingers. "Wet clothes aren't doing him any favors, either."

Charles had to smile at that one. "Scott is sixteen years old, nearly six feet tall, and a student of martial arts. I'm a cripple. I'd be happier if he chose dry clothes, also, but what am I to do about it?" When a toddler refused to change clothes, the toddler's will could be thwarted with superior strength. That was the problem with teenagers, they had to make their own choices.

Then again, he had no experience with toddlers.

She murmured a half-syllable, finished taping Scott's fingers, and left with the ambulance to take Doug to the hospital.

This left Charles and Scott in silence for a few seconds. Then Charles said, "Ororo?"

She leaned into the room. "I'm here."

"There's a first aid kit in Hank's lab, a white box with a red cross on it, would you bring it please." Charles used one of his not-request 'pleases'.

"In the pantry, old cookie tin," Scott added. "It's nearer."

When Ororo brought the box, Charles explained, "We'll use butterfly bandages until Hank can have a look at that cut."

Ororo held one up. "This?"

"Yes."

"Groovy. Scott, give me your elbow."

Scott offered his elbow. His left hand was taped up and it was the right elbow bleeding, so he had no way of applying the bandages himself.

"That's not when you say 'groovy', by the way."

She shrugged. "I wanted to try it. How long will Doug be gone?"

"Not long," Charles replied. "Perhaps a day or two."

It was not only the EMTs who arrived on the scene, of course. Charles's call to the CIA had the desired effect. Agents were here taking away the Brotherhood with special precautions.

A man in a suit strode past the doorway, looking in a very distinguished sort of hurry.

"What about the teleporter?" Scott wondered softly.

This was not a conversation they wanted overheard. Also speaking softly, Charles replied, "I believe they intend to sedate him."

"As soon as he wakes up he'll teleport out," Ororo said.

Neither Charles nor Scott could think of how to answer that, how to explain that the CIA would probably keep Azazel sedated for the rest of his life, however long they permitted that to be. His power was too big a threat. _He_ was too big a threat.

"Scott, go change your clothes please."

"Will I need to talk to them?" Scott asked, meaning the agents currently taking five unconscious Brotherhood members into custody.

"Probably not. I have given them the illusion that Ruth is present," Charles explained. "She has a distinguished military record. As we are allies with Israel, it will be easy to check if necessary. I doubt they will."

Scott nodded grimly.

"What is it?" Charles asked.

"It's nothing."

"It's clearly something," Charles replied, an edge to his voice. They were all tired mentally, physically, and emotionally from the trying night.

Scott considered for a few seconds. "I'll go change."

Ororo took the first aid box back to the pantry. She waited on the couch until Scott returned. Neither of them said anything. He sat beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders; she leaned against him.

Charles did not know what to say to them. It wasn't the time to tell them what they did was well beyond the abilities of most their age, or that they had been brave. The worst, he knew, would be to mention that he was proud of them. He hadn't the right to be.

Ororo's head began to droop.

"Why don't you go to bed," Charles suggested.

She shook her head.

Normally, he would press the matter. What could he say to a 13-year-old girl who had been chased through her home by a woman with a heart at least as hard as a diamond? Instead he brought her a blanket.

"Mr. Xavier."

An agent stood in the doorway.

With a final glance at the children, Charles went to speak with him. "Is everything all right?" he asked. It was a stupid question, but what else could he say? "Ruth of course explained what happened."

The agent nodded. "She did," he agreed. For all Charles knew the agent was an intelligent, competent man, but his telepathy scrambled a mind like it was an egg. "We may follow up with you if we have further questions, but the biggest wonder is why they targeted you."

"I fear my family has never been subtle about its wealth." Subtle as a brick mansion. Charles only needed a little logic to answer that question, not his power. He remembered who not only stood up to the Brotherhood but did so without a broken bone to show for it.

Ororo did not look like much. She used that to her advantage.

He could learn from her.

"They saw a house with children, a woman, and a cripple. They clearly underestimated one of us."

Several of them, in fact.

They underestimated the young girl. They didn't know that someone who had always been younger, smaller, and weaker would see no choice but to be smarter and faster in order to survive.

They didn't know, either, that bones break and heal stronger in the broken places. So many of Scott's bones had been broken—pieces of his mind and spirit, too. Those never healed. His body became stronger, though. It became so strong he could have his bones wrenched out of place and be thrown from a window and the only thing he had needed to bring him to his feet again was a sharp word in his head.

Although Doug had been less than effective, Charles credited him, too. His spirit and willingness to take risks for his friends were admirable, particularly because he had a choice. Ororo and Scott had seen just how precious happiness and safety were. Doug had not. They fought because they knew the dangers; he did it because he had faith in his friends.

Charles said none of this to the CIA agent.

He talked up an absent woman.


	28. Return

Later, when the agents and their prisoners were gone, when Doug was at the hospital and Laurie in her room trying to sleep, Charles brought two cups of tea and offered one to Scott.

"Thanks."

The other was for Charles. He had not brewed a cup for Ororo, who was fast asleep. She hadn't been willing to go to bed. Apparently sleep was another story.

Scott raised the tea to his lips, but paused before drinking. He lowered the cup and glanced at Ororo. She was using him for a pillow.

"If I drink it I'll have to pee."

"Yes, I suppose you will," Charles replied. "Eventually."

It wasn't a subject he much liked discussing. In a bar, he had been as filthy as the next man. Filthier, really—always better at something, as was his way. That was another Charles, though.

"I think we have some things to talk about."

Scott shook his head. "Not now. Please."

"Ororo's trust is hard-earned," Charles observed. It was not what he meant to talk about, but a subject he guessed Scott would accept. "She trusts you. She's going to need you now." They didn't know that this was Raven's fault and Charles truly had done all he could. He knew it hadn't been enough.

Scott's jaw twitched. After a moment, he said, "Maybe she shouldn't. I left her alone with that… horrible woman."

Of course. Charles should have known Scott would see it that way. He did all he could against Emma and, in the end, it took all of them to knock her out: Scott's cleverness, Ororo's deceit, and Charles's power. All Scott saw was that he left Ororo.

"Thank you."

"For abandoning my friend?"

Charles wasn't going to press Scott, not now. "For not using another word, as I know you were inclined to do. Ororo first saw the Brotherhood here and she didn't turn to me. She turned to you, Scott. She's here now because she wouldn't leave you. The bond you and Ororo share—don't ever overlook that."

Scott glanced down at Ororo and he understood. She did not look younger in her sleep, as people so often do. Instead she looked older. He had the impression that as he saw her now, he was looking at the woman she would become.

He understood, too, that Charles was thinking of another pair like them. Only, in that pair, the boy and girl lost one another. Much as Scott wanted to shout and shake Charles until he accepted that Raven _was_ behind this attack, he knew better. If Alex or Ororo did something like this, Scott wouldn't want to accept it, either.

Maybe he loved them because they wouldn't.

"You told the EMT I was sixteen."

"Did I."

"Am I sixteen now?"

"Are you fifteen?"

He wasn't, really. Most people's ages changed on the day of their birth. Scott did not know his birthday, nor did he age at a normal rate. Sixteen was an offer in recognition of how much he had grown as a person.

"Of course, you know what this means," Charles warned. He looked at Ororo. "A wise man wouldn't stand between her and cake." She had been pushing for a chocolate cake for ages, counting on one for Sean's birthday next month. He would be twenty. Twenty wasn't too old for chocolate cake.

They both laughed softly and hesitantly. It wasn't a time to laugh and they were hesitant about one another after the past weeks. Scott was still angry. Charles couldn't fault him for it.

"I'm staying here until Alex comes home."

"You're not the only person waiting for someone he loves."

"Meaning?"

"I hope you won't mind company."

So they spoke to each other at random intervals, in brief exchanges:

"Would you mind checking on Laurie?"

Charles did, telepathically, and reported, "She's sleeping."

And, another time:

"They should be back by now."

"I know."

"I'm afraid something may've—"

"So am I. But talking about it won't help, okay, Professor? We just don't know yet."

Mostly they waited silently. Ororo stayed asleep and while Charles and Scott had a lot they wanted to say to one another, neither was ready for that discussion.

Scott wanted to shout. He wanted to ask how Charles trusted that woman who was so clearly using him and why Raven was so much more important—traitorous, deceitful Raven—than all of them. He wanted to ask what the hell he was supposed to do if his brother didn't come home and what was going to happen now.

It was Sunday.

Did they go to class tomorrow, same as ever? Like things were the same?

Charles wondered the same. On Monday he indeed did expect the children to behave like regular students. And if they did not? They had not behaved like children last night. He did not know how to balance these things, fighting perhaps for their very lives and sitting quietly through class.

Finally, while the sky was streaked with pink, Scott's posture changed. He raised his head sharply, like a dog hearing a whistle. It took every ounce of self-control for him to stand slowly, gently shift Ororo's head onto a pillow. Then he raced outside.

Ruth's car moved too slowly up the driveway, but that was okay. Maybe she was just tired, driving slowly to be careful.

Scott saw what was wrong the same moment Charles reached the open doorway.

"Professor…"

"What is it?"

Scott wanted this not to be true and he really wanted not to have to say it, but his face was an open book. One look and Charles knew something was wrong.

A few hours ago, Alex, Hank, Raven, Ruth, and Sean went on what was meant to be a routine mission. Now that they were back, Scott should have felt relieved, not the growing sense of sickness in his stomach.

He turned away from the car. Scott's eyes were actually quite sharp. He did not see colors, but he saw well, shapes and forms. He saw better than Charles did.

"There are only three of them."


	29. Over the Rainbow

Three of them returned home: Hank, looking distracted, lost in a million thoughts every second; Ruth, solemn and quiet; and Alex, stained with the blood of his best friend.

No one slept well, but they made a pretense of it.

Alex didn't want to speak to anyone and it was difficult to fault him. He went to wash off the blood and try to sleep.

Hank took one look at his bed and went to the lab instead.

Scott and Ororo stayed together. Neither tried to talk about Sean, who had been barely older than any of them, barely more than a student, and like a brother to both of them. They exchanged a few bitter words about Raven, though. Only a few. That, too, was a painful subject.

Ruth just shook her head at Charles.

Nobody slept much and nobody looked rested that afternoon when what remained of their already tiny school gathered in the sitting room. Scott tried going to Alex, but he still wasn't looking for any kindness. He wasn't ready to try not being miserable. Everyone was alone, except Scott and Ororo, who didn't see the point.

"I suppose we all have something to discuss," Charles began. Normal he would try to leave the children out of X-Men business. That night, they had been X-Men. They hadn't had a choice.

The adults began. They told of breaking into the compound and destroying the computer, something visibly difficult for Hank to discuss. The files, too. Ruth and Hank summarized their takedown of the smaller attacking robots, then finding Alex and the fire breaking out behind him. They had not been able to find Raven's and Sean's bodies though Alex, speaking up for the first time, murmured, "We just couldn't save them."

"I'd like to know if anyone's certain that Raven was behind the attack on the school," Scott said.

Charles glanced at him, surprised. "Thank you, Scott."

Scott shook his head. "No, Professor. I'm not defending her. I want you to see the truth." He didn't say it angrily. This was far more painful: pity.

"Nothing we saw was proof either way," Ruth replied, "but I would not be surprised. Raven was more difficult than usual, she considered the mission unnecessary. Surprising for one who insisted upon it."

Hesitantly, Hank admitted, "It was strange that she left when she did."

"She had to pee," Alex pointed out. "That wasn't her fault. None of this was."

"Unless she lured you out so we would be undefended," Scott observed, still gently, pityingly. "Alex, I know you told me to trust her, but it's too big a coincidence."

"That's right. I did tell you to trust her. You didn't listen, did you?"

Ororo started to say something, but Scott shook his head.

"Jerk," he said, looking at Alex.

Alex raised his eyebrows. "Why are you calling me a jerk?"

"Whatever the truth proves," Hank offered, "I would like to know what happened last night. It sounds like the mansion could benefit from improved security."

As the adults began to discuss what might be beneficial, including suggestions from Laurie—she had a point that calling 911 from the shelter itself would have been safer—Scott nudged Ororo and moved his elbow just slightly.

Ruth suggested they needed an alarm system, perhaps something triggered by the doors, although this was only hopeful with a teleporter and a house full of kids.

Ororo shook her head at Scott.

"Everything is 'only hopeful' with a teleporter," Laurie said. "How about you don't all go out at once and leave us here?"

Scott gave Ororo a nod.

"Laurie, we didn't mean—" Hank began, but Ruth interrupted him.

"No. She is right. Someone should have stayed. We feel too safe here, it makes us foolish."

With this discussion underway, no one noticed Ororo ripping two butterfly closures off the cut on Scott's elbow, nor the shift in his jaw to indicate that it hurt.

They noticed, however, when Scott 'discovered' that he was bleeding. Mostly because he announced it and wondered, "Hank, d'you think you could fix it with more butterfly things? Or do I need stitches?"

"The other butterfly closures seem to be holding," Hank observed.

"Great, I'll go grab the first aid kit."

"I can—" Laurie volunteered.

Scott interrupted, "No, that's okay, Laurie. I'll go."

Hank may have missed Ororo opening up Scott's wound again, but he was not stupid. He also didn't think his phlebotomy training justified his position as team medic. He considered looking into what the community college offered—he did not want to leave the mansion and return to college for another degree, just a little training—but he was still blue. Still not ready.

Nonetheless, he took the first aid kit and disinfected Scott's cut. Scott was no stranger to scrapes and bruises, but this one was bad. Hank was more concerned with the knife sticking out of Scott's pocket. It was subtle, easy to miss if you weren't up close.

And it was clearly a secret.

The others had continued their conversation, a mixed discussion of security and the previous evening's events, but Hank did not want to mention the knife aloud. It was clearly a secret. So he gave Scott a meaningful look— _what are you planning?_

Scott shook his head in response.

"Hey Alex," he said, "you remember that song Mom used to sing us?"

It wasn't a terrible interruption, but enough that everyone gave him strange looks.

"You know—the Judy Garland one, right? Or maybe it was something else," Scott continued, "you'd remember better than I do."

"No," Alex said. "It was 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow'."

Scott nodded. "Thought as much."

It was because of Scott that Charles wrapped up their discussion early—or because of the glances he saw Hank and Ororo giving Scott. Something was certainly going on.

Yet as the other X-Men made their way out of the room, Scott lingered. This was probably because Alex did the same.

"Charles."

Ruth had waited for him in the hallway. There was a lot to be made up for, as Charles saw it. He had distrusted his friends, his family. He hadn't forgotten that he accused Ruth of jealousy and could not fault her for what she said in response, no matter how it stung.

He shook his head. "I don't know where to begin. I..."

Ruth crouched and wrapped her arms around him.

It had been so long since someone hugged Charles, at first he did not understand. When he did, he felt his muscles give up, go weak against her.

She didn't say anything—not about the fight, not about Raven. She just held him until they heard a crash and a yelp from the next room.


	30. Unforgivable

Hank reached the sitting room first and did not even blink at what he saw: Alex on the floor, pinned down, Scott holding a knife to his throat. Somehow despite the injuries from last night, Scott had the upper hand. Surprise and a weapon, Hank supposed.

Then the others clustered behind him, just in time to hear Scott snap,

"Show me who you are!"

"I'm Alex!" Alex replied. "I'm your brother, you know me. This is crazy!"

"Show me!"

"Scott—Scotty—"

He pushed the knife against Alex's neck and blood bubbled around the metal. "Only my brother calls me that!"

"I _am_ your brother!"

Everyone in the house had gathered to watch this exchange. It was difficult to miss. Laurie looked nervous, Hank a mix of nervous and perplexed. Ororo could have been watching a movie. Ruth and Charles exchanged glances.

That morning she had ceded team leadership, but breaking up fights was Ruth's domain. Scott was too wound up now to be talked calm.

Charles tried, anyway. "Scott, let him up please."

"Her," Scott replied, not taking his eyes off Alex. "This is not my brother, this is Raven."

"Charles," Alex called, 'please help me' in his tone.

"Where is he?" Scott shouted.

He rarely shouted.

"Scott, I'm right here."

"Scott!" Charles snapped. He had used the same tone with the others—with Hank, when he had Erik by the throat. Hank had let Erik go.

Scott flinched.

Alex grabbed his left hand, the deeply bruised fingers Emma dislocated, and wrenched.

Scott moaned and he eased up enough for Alex to shove him away. Ororo darted into the room and scooped up the knife. It was out of Scott's hands, at least—best it stay out of Alex's, too.

"It's not my brother," Scott insisted. His voice shook, twisted in pain and distress. "It's not my brother."

"I am," Alex insisted right back.

"Scott," Charles said, gently this time, "it's all right."

Scott shook his head.

"I am your brother, Scott, I'm the only one you have. Ever since you were born."

Scott wasn't able to answer, but he seemed to shrink. Ororo rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Let it be over," she urged.

"I…" Scott began. "It's…" He swallowed and looked at Alex. In a small voice, he asked, "Do you remember the day I was born?"

"The day you were born?" Alex asked.

Scott nodded. "You would've been… eight, maybe? Seven? Dad took you to the hospital."

"That's right," Alex said. "To see Mom. And you. I remember. You were a ugly little thing."

Scott turned away from Alex then. He looked at Charles and asked, in that same small voice, "Please."

Charles nodded. After everything that had happened, he had looked wrung out as anyone else. Now his eyes glistened like he might cry. "I know."

Alex looked between them. "What?" he asked. "What's going on?"

Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You never have to hide from me," he said.

"What are you—" Alex began.

"Scott's older," Ororo said.

Honestly! She would have wondered if all American boys were this soft, but Charles wasn't American. All boys, then. They were beating around the bush so hard… why? This was Raven. This was the woman who sent her horrible friends to hurt them! Who cared about her feelings?

The realization made something inside of her snap. She trusted Charles. Now she felt betrayed by him. She always understood. When Charles and Ruth took her out of the orphanage, she knew she would not _really_ be their foster daughter—nor had she wanted that. They promised to protect her, though.

They acted like they cared.

She believed them.

"Scott's the older brother!"

People came into their home and threatened them, broke her friends. Tried to break her.

"We know who you are, Raven."

"Alex" looked between all of them, then surged to her feet, shifting to blue as she did. She moved quicker than most of them could. Before anyone could stop her, Raven grabbed the knife from Ororo's hand and held it to her throat.

So now she showed herself, truly.

In so many ways.

Scaled and blue with a knife to the throat of a thirteen-year-old girl. A girl who would be fourteen next month.

"Raven," Charles began.

Earlier, he looked ready to cry. That was nothing compared to Ororo's present appearance. The knife nicked her throat and she shook. Her eyes shifted, filming over white and flickering back to normal. She was too scared to focus properly.

Ruth was through with this. "Take your hands off my daughter, I will not tell you again."

Raven smirked.

One second, Ruth stood beside Charles.

The next she had blurred forward and given Raven's arm a yank that sent a sharp crack through the room. Raven yelped. She dropped the knife. Tears in her eyes, she appealed, "Charles, please!"

Ruth grabbed her dislocated shoulder and squeezed, crushing bones. Raven shrieked and fell to the floor.

And then Ruth was on her, hands around Raven's neck, not taking her eyes off her captive prey as she told Charles, "Shut her mind down or I will."

Charles understood that he would have no other chance. He understood that Ruth would kill Raven. So he touched his forehead. It was a mercy, really, because Raven was afraid and in agony from her dislocated arm and broken shoulder.

He closed her mind.

The room went silent. No one missed the devastation of what had just happened. No one had any question that Scott and Charles both felt pieces of themselves crumbling. And no one knew what to say.

Someone made a thin, keening noise. Hank looked from Ororo to Scott, trying to figure out if the sound came from the boy curled up on the floor or the girl rocking and staring blankly. Then Ororo began to cry.

Ruth strode over, leaving an unconscious Raven, and hugged Ororo.

Ororo cried harder. In the past twelve hours she had seen her home invaded and her friends broken. A psychic had searched her mind and named her weaknesses out loud. A boy who was like a brother to her left and did not come home—possibly another would not. And her neck burned where the blood was already clotting.

It wasn't new. Losing people, being hurt—it wasn't new. But it was too much. She trembled and sobbed into Ruth’s shoulder.

Scott watched from the floor. He did not know what to do. He wanted Ruth to hold him, too, but he couldn't ask that, couldn't take that comfort from Ororo.

At least, he couldn't until Ruth held out an arm and beckoned him over.

He didn't cry and it wasn't about last night. What Raven had done was unforgivable to Scott: she took his brother away. Where was Alex? And was he safe? Whole? Alive?

He stayed with Ruth and Ororo for a long time.


	31. The End

"Hello, Sacred Mercy Hospital."

"Hello. I haven't been able to reach my brother and his friend and I'm concerned they may be hurt—I'm calling all the area hospitals."

"That sounds like a police matter. If a child is missing—"

"They're not children, they're just… irresponsible. I'm worried if there was an accident they may have been brought in as John Does."

"We haven't had any John Does in the past few days."

"What about an Alexander Summers or a Sean Cassidy?"

There was a pause as the woman checked. "No patients by those names, either."

"All right. Thank you."

Scott hung up the phone and sighed. Alex still wasn't home and neither Ruth nor Hank knew for sure what had happened. All Scott could think to do was keep calling hospitals.

"Scott?"

He glanced up. "Hank."

Hank took the phone away. "Let me."

"Hank, Alex is my brother."

"And he's my friend," Hank returned.

The truth was, Scott did not want the calls out of his control. He wanted to feel that he was doing something, anything that might possibly help even the slightest bit. Alex was missing and Scott didn't know what to do. It was like not having air to breathe.

But Hank was trying to help. Scott appreciated that.

He smiled weakly. "No, he's not."

He didn't know what went on between Hank and Alex, but he knew they were hardly the closest.

"He's not," Hank agreed. "He's my teammate." He took the phone book and looked at the number for the next hospital. "Are you sure you don't want to call the police?"

Scott shook his head. "I'm not siccing those bastards on my brother."

He had been arrested once. It was purely by luck that Moira McTaggart was at the police station that night. The police had handcuffed Scott to a table and taken his glasses. They had not been particularly considerate in their attempts to gather information. And they had been ready to return him to the orphanage.

Hank nodded. "I understand."

They both knew the remark was meant to soothe hurt feelings and they both knew it didn’t, but Scott was too wrung out to argue.

"Thanks."

While Hank dialed, Scott went to the kitchen. He did not actually feel hungry, but he always was and this gave him something to do. Ruth and Charles were in the kitchen. They stopped their conversation when Scott walked in.

"Oh… afternoon."

Ruth returned, "Good afternoon, Scott."

"I, um—Hank's calling around."

"We understand."

Scott grabbed a bottle of Coke and tried to open it. His right hand was clumsy at best. A few seconds and the bottle slipped.

Ruth caught it. She opened the bottle before handing it back.

"Thanks. My hand isn't..." Scott held up his taped-up fingers.

"Of course."

"Scott," Charles said. Sometimes he envied Ruth. She didn't need to feel guilty for her sister's actions—he did. And his efforts with Cerebro had been fruitless. "I'm so sorry I couldn't find him."

"That's okay." Scott hesitated. He looked down for a moment and tried not to say it. Then he mumbled, "I know we don't matter like Raven does."

Charles's eyes widened. He knew Scott was upset, told himself that was the fear for his brother speaking. It still hurt him to hear. "I beg your pardon."

Scott should have apologized. Normally, called out for mouthing off, he would have all but cowered. Instead he turned to Charles and said, loud and clear, "We don't matter like Raven does!"

"Scott…"

"Scott!" Ruth snapped. "Derech eretz."

Scott looked to Ruth. He was hurt, worried about Alex, but more than that he was uncertain. No one could make him feel like a child the way she could. "But—Mom…"

She stepped nearer and brushed his face. In general, Scott did not like people petting him. He wasn't a cat. It was okay if he had been crying—which he hadn't usually—but mostly it was just Ruth, because she acted like he was a kid without treating him like one.

"I cannot force you," she murmured, "but there is a right and wrong choice here. There is a choice that will disappoint me."

Scott sighed and turned to Charles. "I know you care about us. But I am mad at Raven. And you—"

Ruth cleared her throat.

"I'm upset about Alex," Scott tried again, "and I let that get the better of me. I'm sorry."

Ruth nodded. She squeezed his shoulder gently and indicated that he was free to go. He didn't have anywhere to be, but he understood. It was about privacy.

And it was.

As soon as Scott left, Charles shook his head. "I don't know what I'm going to do about him."

"Yes you do," Ruth replied. "You have known for some time."

"The things I've heard from his thoughts lately—he's suffering and I can't help him, I can't get past the fear."

"Charles, he was hurt and his brother is missing. Right now fear is what he has."

"I understand that," Charles assured her, "but I need to help him. I should be able to help. Scott's in pain, Ororo's so angry and afraid she doesn't know what to feel, and Laurie can't bear to think about what happened." He shook his head. It weighed so heavily. "I've made a terrible mistake."

Ruth couldn't tell him otherwise. He wouldn't believe her if she did, nor should he. He had made a terrible mistake and the cost was meted out upon those around him, those whom he had a duty to protect. They were broken—the boys' bodies, the girls' hearts.

She hugged him.

They had a long road ahead.

* * *

 

By the time evening rolled around, Scott had called every hospital he could find in the phone book. None of them had records of an Alex Summers or Sean Cassidy, nor any John Does matching their descriptions. He didn't know what else to do. He had considered going to look for them on his bicycle, but his fingers couldn't grip the handlebars—plus Ororo spotted him trying to ride anyway and told Ruth.

For most of the day, he simply sat and waited. Sometimes others waited with him, out of solidarity.

Alex would come back.

Hank told him about the first team, the "steep learning curve", as he described their training. Nobody had told Scott the details and after what happened it helped him understand some about Erik and Raven. It helped, a little, to understand how a man he thought so much of could be so very wrong.

Alex had to come back.

Ororo didn't say anything. After Hank had gone, she settled against Scott. She rested against him and he realized that was the only part of his body that wasn't numb.

He had to.

Even Laurie sat with Scott for a while. She did not have much to say and she shifted uncomfortably, but she tried. It would mean a lot to him later.

That evening, Charles stopped to speak with him. "Scott?"

Scott nodded. "Yeah?"

The response was rote, a slightly choked exchange they'd had a dozen times at least. " _Yes_."

"Yes," Scott echoed, dutifully.

'Gonna' and 'ain't' weren't words, either.

"We're just sitting down to dinner. Are you going to join us?"

Scott shook his head.

"Scott…"

"I forgot his name. I lost him—I promised to look after him and I didn't do that."

Sometimes Charles didn't need to consciously use his telepathy. He picked up thoughts that were too loud like a person hearing a conversation as he passed by an open door. Today it was all too familiar: _so worthless you don't deserve to breathe, it's a waste of air._

He knew this wasn't about what happened now. Scott had promised to take care of Alex when they were children, before their parents died, but lost track of him until the past year. Alex didn't hold a grudge for it, but Scott had not forgiven himself.

"You were—"

"I forgot his name."

Charles wanted to tell him, that's not your fault. You were only a baby yourself, you were five years old. You did everything you could.

He didn't say that.

He knew Scott wouldn't listen.

"If I bring you a plate, will you eat?"

Scott shook his head.

"If Ruth brings it?"

"I'm not… sulking at you. I'm not hungry, that's all."

It wasn't all. The entire time, Scott hadn't taken his eyes off the door.

"All right."

"I'm mad," Scott murmured. "And scared. Doug is in the hospital and Alex… because you couldn't see what she was. I'm mad at you. You were supposed to protect us. I don't care that we were the ones fighting, me and Ororo and Doug, we made that choice, but you could have tried. It was Raven's friends who attacked me and Ororo, wasn't it?"

Charles hesitated, but he had to admit, "It almost certainly was, yes."

Scott nodded. "Figured. She set this whole thing up."

Charles couldn't argue. He had not read Raven's mind, nor had he meant to. The Brotherhood might have found Scott and Ororo too easily, had known when the X-Men were gone. Hank confirmed that the facility they hit was indeed developing robots to hunt mutants. He did not confirm any urgency—the mission itself may have been a lure.

Charles didn't mention this to Scott. He wasn't ready.

"She was playing you from the second she arrived," Scott said. "She looked so messed up, but bruises don't fade that quickly. They were fake, do you realize that?"

Charles thought for a moment, not about Raven. There was nothing he could do for Raven. He thought about Scott, who he did care for despite several poor choices he had made the past weeks.

"Scott, you should know that I'm lucky to have you here."

He sighed. "I know. I know that. I'm not ungrateful and I don't care what you do to me, I understand. But I'm mad anyway."

"No, Scott. I'm lucky to have you."

Dinner was a sad state. Doug was at the hospital still. Alex and Sean were missing. Scott wouldn't join them. Raven—to Charles, her absence mattered. He knew it didn't matter to anyone else, but she mattered to him. Those present were subdued.

Laurie and Ororo couldn't even bring themselves to argue. They ignored one another or made distant, polite requests for something to be passed. All those evenings Charles wished they could have just one day without the girls arguing, he hadn't meant it this way.

"When is school back in session?" Hank asked.

It was a sad sort of likeness of a meal, with people poking at food or eating by rote and nobody really looking at one another. Hank was the first of them to say anything of even vague meaning.

Charles was inclined to say that they could take a few more days. He didn't feel like getting back to teaching and doubted the children felt like getting back to school. So, naturally, he said, "Tomorrow. Tomorrow's Monday, I expect you all in class."

"That's soon," Laurie observed.

No one understood rivalry like Ororo, who asked, "Scott too?"

"Scott too," Charles confirmed. "All of you."

"Doug?" Ororo pressed.

"All of you except Doug," Charles amended.

He wasn't certain how much time passed before he heard the front door open. Charles checked telepathically. Ororo, without that ability or need for patience, went to peer into the hallway.

Alex stood there, looking disheveled and unsteady. His shirt was splattered with dark spots they knew were someone else’s blood. He and Scott regarded one another for a moment.

"Alex."

He swallowed awkwardly and offered a broken, "Yeah."

"Sean?"

After too long a pause, Alex shook his head.

"I couldn't…"

Scott was tall for sixteen, but still lanky and awkward. He looked like a teenager while Alex looked and carried himself like an adult. More often than not, Scott's claim of big-brotherhood was absurd on looks alone.

Today it wasn't.

He stepped forward and pulled Alex into a hug. Alex let him.

Then he began to cry.

"I couldn't protect him."

**THE END.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...the end of the chapter, anyway! I hope you enjoyed reading and will keep an eye out for the next installment.


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